


Your Latest Trick

by ChortlesOfDoom



Series: Mischief Over Matter [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Aquaphobia, Bisexual Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Deception, Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends, Flashbacks, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Letters, M/M, Makeup Sex, Other, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Tough Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChortlesOfDoom/pseuds/ChortlesOfDoom
Summary: Following a violent, masterfully feigned death aboard the Statesman, Thor believes Loki's gone for good; more importantly, so does Thanos. Exhausted and hungry for revenge, Loki returns to Earth, but as he bides his strength, anonymously supplying the Avengers with inside knowledge between his own preparations, he begins to see the true cost of holding on.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> The following is an alternate retelling of Infinity War in which Loki makes it off the ship and goes after Thanos in the only way he knows: wits, magic, and just a touch of brute force. Written because that movie royally screwed me up and I seriously needed (and still need) some kind of catharsis. Canon unless and until Marvel brings Loki back, don't @ me. :^)
> 
> This story focuses less on the actual revenge bit and more on the aftermath. There will be trauma. There will be depression. Things are gonna get ugly. Several of the tags on this are tentative; I haven't done those things yet, but I'll definitely get to them at some point and I want to make sure everyone's informed (admittedly a bit of a spoilery move on my part, but I've been jumped by uncomfortable content in stories before and it's a not fun thing when you're unprepared, hence the warnings)
> 
> This work is also illustrated! In case you missed the tag (which is impossible, how did you miss the tag) this work has full colour illustrations. There are two right now, but I'll be adding more as I go through the story. Will I do a sex scene eventually? Hohoho probably because I'm a dirty heathen and sure want to see that in full colour! Stay tuned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a hasty decision and a dangerous escape.

 

In the ragged shade of the starship's rubble, uncomfortably seated behind a mask of invisibility and barely clinging to consciousness, Loki quietly spoke to himself.

He watched with earnest eyes as his copy repeated the words, more shattered, more breathless, adjusting on its own accord for every little change in the hand around its neck. Nearly all of his strength was poured into keeping the illusion tactile, believable—believable, he told himself as he paled the skin further with one finger's wave, broke a few blood vessels in the face with another. The surge of magic he didn't have sent a jolt of nausea through him and he skittered deeper into his cover, because he knew his limits, knew he was past them, and the last thing he needed was his invisibility failing—or the conjuring of himself.

Loki breathed in. It could have been him up there. He could have done the effects on his own body—cast a separate spell to protect him, dimmed his heartbeat, made it feel like he'd died but not quite. That was how he usually did it, but he couldn't take the risk; not this time. If Thanos saw through the trick, there wouldn't even be time for an apology. Doing it from a distance meant he could at least run if it all went to shit.

The grip tightened.

Loki jerked his hand and the illusion went limp, dropped to the floor a moment later with a dull thud. Keep it like that, keep it convincing, his mind hissed—almost cruelly. He was a hair's breadth from his emergency reserves and so close to fainting he was shivering in place, but he maintained the spell down to the tangibility, painfully aware of what might happen if he didn't.

Thanos seemed in no rush to leave, sparing a few more jeers before disappearing into the only remaining clear passage. His children—it was revolting calling them that—followed without a word.

For a moment, there was silence. Then something crackled briefly and collapsed under the fire, and Thor snapped out of his stupor. His grieving howl almost made Loki forfeit the plan where he sat.

Almost.

“Leave,” he whispered to himself, squeezing his fist tighter, struggling to keep the clone from vanishing. “Leave. Please leave. Don't hurt yourself more than you have to.”

A bitter smell still lingered in the air. It wasn't a smoky one; it wasn't like the fire. It was something else, something he couldn't describe. Something chaotic. Death and decay, burning flesh and blood, the kind of awful things he never wanted to smell a second time but always did. The sight of Thor huddled over his body was torture. There was no pity he could offer him, no apologetic glance. No, “I had to do this.” That kind of lie wouldn't hold for any longer than the words took to leave his mouth—if he even dared to crawl out of hiding in the first place.

The ship lurched.

Loki grunted and steadied himself with one hand, which he then promptly brought it up in front of him in a desperate attempt to keep the spell from wavering. He wasn't looking anymore, but he knew Thor was still against the illusion; he could feel the phantom touches of a too-powerful clone. The proximity put him horribly on edge. Thor would spoil his plan in no time flat if he knew. If it weren't for that paranoia, he would have killed the spell seconds, minutes ago. Not this time. There was too much at stake, too much—

“Abandon ship,” Loki growled, glancing dimly up at him through the smoke. The words were futile; he had a quieting spell active alongside the invisibility. Still, he continued, if only in the hopes of inciting something. “Thor, you”—he coughed—“you _idiot,_ you'll kill yourself in here. I don't need that. Don't do this to me, damn it.”

Another blast rocked the ship and Loki found himself grabbing onto a chunk of the rubble he was leaned against, fighting to stay upright. Thor was unaffected; he remained stubbornly pressed to the floor, with his face scrunched and threads of lightning dancing around his fingers. Loki tried not to look, tried very hard, but he couldn't fight the urge. He glanced over, blinked once as a stray ash landed on his eyelashes, and then thought: what the hell was he doing? Was it really so risky to let Thor know?

Yes. Yes, it was. He wouldn't understand.

Loki softened his grip on the metal and scowled. Always with the long, confusing hunches. A hunch—could he even call it that? That going with Thor wouldn't work? Yes. He couldn't think clearly; there was no reason from his mind as to why. A hunch, he decided, was enough. The rest could come later.

The largest explosion hit right then, tearing the room in half before either of them could react. Loki was hurled into the nearest wall; Thor slid off the platform's edge and disappeared into the whirling vacuum beneath.

Loki grit his teeth and propped himself up, barely conscious of what had just happened. It felt like a dream. He killed every spell he had active and sat against the wall he'd hit, bracing for the worst. The escape pods were gone and so was his magic. Norns help him, all he could do was wait.

He stared at the empty space where Thor had been, at Heimdall's corpse across the room, all but forgotten in the chaos, and then he turned around and threw a random piece of wreckage with a loud, drawn-out scream. Oh—what he wouldn't give for those bastards to still be on the ship with him. The things he'd do, the things he knew he'd do were all he could think about. They were the only reason he hadn't completely snapped.

Minutes passed clawing at the ship's scraps, desperately scrounging for magic from every inch of his body. He counted. Five, ten. Another spell would at best give him horrid nosebleeds and nausea; at worst, knock him into a few-day coma, which was… less than ideal, to put it mildly. Sudden plans were never any less finicky; it was his own fault for sticking around so long. The alcove he was nestled in was barely standing among the dying quakes, and he curled a little tighter and hoped—who was he kidding, he prayed—that it would hold out until he wasn't so exhausted. He couldn't wait forever, but he could come close. Or try, anyway.

At twenty-some minutes, there was only fire left; the floors had steadied enough to comfortably tread. Loki waited a little longer, just in case, and then stood. He wandered half-consciously through the ship, ducking between spires of flames and smoke and trying not to breathe in either. The heat was uncomfortable, but not unbearable, as the rifts had already cleared most of it. Whatever hadn't been filtered out by the initial explosions was similarly dissipating.

There was no plan.

The plan was to survive; everything else was secondary. Revenge would be good. Finding Thanos—finding his minions—would be good. Succeeding would make his day, but right now, there was nothing left but get out, get far away, and hope that whatever happened wouldn't affect him.

He thought back to Thor. Asgard—the people he grew up with, people who were now torn, bloody, burned, scattered across the ship like beasts to be hunted. Dead. Thanos had no right; after all the favours, all the _everything,_ he should have spared them. He lied again. No surprise there.

Thor. Tortured—a fraction of torture, a very tolerable piece of hell, unlike—

Dead. Thor was probably dead.

They were all dead.

Loki had seen enough escapes in the early portions of the attack to know it likely wasn't as bad as he was making it. The Valkyrie, for example, had steered a handful of passengers into the emergency crafts, and when he wasn't busy guarding their flanks, he had done the same. There were other survivors, no doubt—half, approximately; he imagined it would be half of what their number was before the attack. Post-Ragnarök, however, and post- various other incidents, that number was almost nothing.

Half. He tried to determine what that meant.

What was half of almost nothing?

He thought back to himself. Once upon a time, that had been him out there: glorious purpose, salvation, ends to justify the means. He would have willingly slaughtered someone else's Asgard and held no regrets for it, and for a moment, the horror of then surpassed the horror of everything else. He had no place speaking against it; he had been exactly the same.

Heimdall. Even Heimdall. His corpse was still visible if Loki craned his neck around the smoke.

Oh, gods.

That reminded him of something else: the Bifröst's last use had been rushed, it seemed, because the halls were swimming with residual energy. Harnessing it would give him enough of a boost that he could reasonably expect to hit solid ground if he warped, but other than that—well, he'd either die here or there. It wasn't like he had much to lose.

He positioned himself against a had-been wall, held out both hands, and began siphoning the magic, pouring it solely into a teleportation. Healing his wounds would be nice, but it was unnecessary, as was trying to salvage the vessel—possible, if he really wanted, and just as pointless, if not more. Get out and get far. That was the priority.

The last of the energy flickered away, and he lowered his hands to his sides and stepped forward. He breathed in, held, and breathed out. Once. Twice. Behind him, a surge of cold air offered a brief respite from the inferno, and he savoured it for the few seconds it took to fade. Inhale, exhale. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care; anywhere worked.

As he finalized the spell, welcoming the familiar pull and weightlessness like an old friend, there was only one thing on his mind:

Safe.

He closed his eyes, and the world disappeared.

 


	2. Deep Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wonders if he's made a mistake but doesn't hesitate in getting his plan off the ground.

For once, the universe didn't fail him.

Loki was still reciting the words in his head: safe, hold me safe, send me anywhere but here—anywhere _safe_ —

and the universe, for once, had obliged.

He appeared pressed to a wall, eyes as closed as they had been upon departure, and with what felt very much like blood trickling down his upper lip.

Next to his body, the first thing he noticed was the air. Behind various scents of food and drink, it was a regular blend of oxygen and other he was breathing in, and at that, an enormous weight tumbled off his shoulders. Atmospheres, while not quite the worry they should have been, not for them, were a tremendously fickle thing to deal with; in this condition, in fact, he would have been unconscious in seconds had his landing been any less forgiving. Turned out he still had the knack, though, and fleetingly, he felt a sense of gratitude for whomever he'd directed his prayers towards—and then his second impression came, which was that they didn't exist, and if they did, they didn't deserve shit from him, gratitude included.

He took a long gulp of that fresh, familiar air, calmly readied himself, and opened his eyes.

The place itself.

His chances hadn't quite been impossible; if they were, he would have wound up floating in space when he tried what he did, and if not space, on some asteroid somewhere, or a similarly hostile environment. His chances, and he calculated them, he liked to think, near perfectly, were that a successful warp in uncharted territory would be difficult—difficult, but not impossible. His likelihood of appearing somewhere nonhazardous on a first attempt had simply been slim. The likelihood of appearing in the middle of an alien tavern, on the other hand, was completely fucking ridiculous, pardon the language, and there wasn't a single logical reason he could come up with as to why his luck should foresee one as his landing spot—yet here he was: smack in the middle of an alien tavern. He was too stunned to question it.

He smeared the blood on the back of his hand, sniffed once, and then switched to mouth-breathing for the duration of his scrutiny, hoping he'd be dry by then.

The tavern was a little on the cheap side, he admitted, and it wasn’t especially well-kept, but damned if he was about to look it in the teeth. Across the room, orange sunlight filtered through the blinds, shadowed by crowds of various spacefarers—some large, some tiny, all speaking various languages; none, he also noticed, of commonly dangerous races, which was just as much of a godsend as the setting. He didn't pay attention to the rest.

After another swipe at his nose, and far against his better judgment, he pulled up a stool and ordered a drink.

He had, in all honesty, rather nimbly dodged full exhaustion and its effects, which was a welcome surprise. Past that, though, he wasn't exactly up to par, and he mostly had himself to blame for that. His stupid split-second reconsideration and Thanos's stupid fast working speed—he'd probably have all the stones by the end of the day—and his own stupid magical bullshit that he knew _fully well_ would take at least forty hours to completely recover from meant he'd need some ludicrously good fortune to get anywhere with his plan. And that was just the optimistic view.

Somewhere, the echoless thwack of a chair hitting flesh snapped Loki out of his thoughts.

The glass was still pristinely untouched; he hardly noticed how much more focused he was on tapping the side with a finger, trying to trigger a spark or some other display of magic. He stopped, furrowed his brows, and tapped it again. A tiny flicker of green bounced off the surface and then fizzled into nothing. He sighed.

“Trouble?” someone asked.

Loki's gaze remained on the glass. “What gave it away?” he responded a moment later, smiling wryly to himself.

“You've got the look,” the stranger continued. “You fucked up.”

At that, Loki sat up and properly examined the voice's owner: an odd, feathered biped with beady eyes and worried frown spread across his mouth—or her; the voice itself was inconclusive, as was the appearance. They?

He pulled his drink closer. “I did what was in my best interest.”

“That's fine,” the creature said, then paused. “I'm Kip.”

“Loki,” he flatly answered.

“Loki,” Kip repeated, like they were tasting the sounds. There was no recognition in the way they spoke them, thankfully. “Wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Oh. Sure thing. Enjoy your drink.”

At that, Kip turned and vanished into the crowd. Loki stared after them, conscious of a faint nagging in his mind. He _did_ want to talk—and to a no one like Kip, to anyone in the building, really, he could talk with little risk. But what was he going to say? That he faked his death for a thousandth time? That he left his brother traumatized? Or that he was a coward? Yes, here he was—the great Loki! Hiding in bars, drinking crappy liquor until he wasn't so scared to come out and face his enemies, and until he could just swallow his pride and apologize for once in his life to Thor—sincerely. Poor guy deserved it.

Loki huffed and downed his drink.

For a very brief moment, he considered returning to Midgard. That had been their original destination, but that was before the attack, and before he'd been left drained and alone, with no one to vouch for him. Out here, though, he was dead; he was too exhausted to defend himself, and if he wasn't, well—he'd die anyway. He was outnumbered and painfully aware to what extents _they'd_ go to make him pay. They wouldn't bother with anything more than killing him, he figured, and that was vaguely relieving, but he didn't want to die. On Midgard, he could possibly convince someone to fight alongside him were he found—and then? Imprisonment, most likely. Neither was ideal.

Thus: death or capture. His options were terrible—and he was _terrified._

Gods, he hadn't felt so pathetic in years.

Behind him, the mention of Earth caught his attention, and he swivelled to get a better look, sighting a group of human, bounty hunter-looking fellows at one of the tables. They intended to pick up a friend, drop off some cash, maybe rest awhile before heading back out—and by the sound of it, they had a warp drive, which only furthered Loki's interest.

His options were the same: stay in Ass, Nowhere, like a coward, or stay within the Avengers bailiwick, like an even bigger coward—and a fool. Last they saw of him, he was trying to take over the world, and he'd neither wanted to nor planned on a second attempt; with Asgard gone, though, there was little he could do to convince them otherwise.

Death or capture. Death or capture.

How common was torture in modern-day Midgard?

Loki sighed and buried his head in his hands. Another drink was pushed in front of him and he muttered a thank you.

He kept an eye on the group, taking slow sips and testing his magic as he did. He had the overwhelming sense that he wouldn’t be able to just up and ask if he could hitch a ride, so at the very least, he’d need some form of cloaking. Invisibility was the most logical, but even that felt too heavy. Although the nosebleed had stopped, he still couldn't maintain a spell, and something like that, in a situation like that—he was just asking for trouble.

“Kip!” he yelled, spotting them nearby.

Kip looked up. “Hi,” they said, standing and strolling over. “Change your mind?”

“What? No.” Loki shook his head. “No, I need some information. Do you know those men?” He glanced in their general direction.

Kip followed his gaze. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, those guys”—they faced Loki—“they're infamous around these parts. Sadistic bastards. I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

Of course.

Loki nodded. “Thank you.”

Kip returned the nod and made their way back to their table, where they were chatting up some lizardfolk.

Loki frowned and took a look at his hands. A quick nap would most likely do the trick, but from the sound of it, the group was getting ready to leave any minute, and that kind of opportunity wouldn't present itself again.

He stared at them for a very, very long moment before sighing and walking over to ask if he could hitch a ride. “Hi,” he said, as innocuously as he could.

The group stared back.

“Hey,” one of them finally responded, pulling his cigarette from his mouth. “What's up?”

“I heard you were heading to Earth and wondered if I might come along,” Loki said. “I have some business there and no means of transportation at the moment.” Simple, straight to the point. What else would he tell them?

“Yeah,” the man began, “you know what? Sure. But”—he gestured with his cig—“if we get jumped, don't expect us to help you.”

“Fair enough,” Loki said, and then propped himself in the nearest empty chair and waited.

They finished their drinks and slipped through the fire exit, with Loki at their tail. He braced himself for an unwelcome environment, but when he stepped outside, the only change was a slight dip in temperature. He was in a nondescript, skyscraper-filled city somewhere, and if it weren't for the presence of two suns on the horizon, he might have even mistaken it for a known setting. The ship was just off to the side; he broke away from the scenery to examine it. It was a small, sleek thing, clearly designed for fast escapes, with a dark body and windows. The evening light cast a harsh glare along its form, highlighting what he blissfully recognized as a cloaker attached to the underside. They knew what they were doing, no doubt.

“Mind your head, kid,” the last person into the ship tartly advised. Loki bit back the urge to tell them he was in his thousands and ducked.

The inside was mostly boxes, various shapes and sizes and all labelled something different. A large majority evidently held weapons, and he considered sifting through a couple when he wasn't being watched—or if he could finally get his invisibility up. He didn't have much on him besides his daggers.

“Did you refuel?”

“Shut up, of course I did.”

Loki found a spot in the back and sat atop one of the larger boxes. He fiddled for a moment with his armour, drawing his fingers down the grooves of the leather, and then he sighed and crossed his legs at the ankle. He was silent while the captain worked on getting the ship up and silent as they lifted through the atmosphere. There wasn't much to say.

The jump was seamless; Loki only noticed they'd hit FTL when he randomly glanced out his window and saw the telltale blurs of light, motionless against a black background. He watched them right until they faded into pinpoints barely a minute later, and then switched to the Captain's side, where the Earth now took up most of the glass.

They took their time descending, passing through what Loki vaguely remembered as southern Canada. Their landing came after some five more minutes, in the pale, tattered field of a rundown ranch. Strips of land had been burned by—presumably—their past trips, and he imagined he'd see a fresh line of flames when they got out.

They checked the engines, double-checked Loki didn't steal anything (which he didn't, much to his disappointment), and then ushered him off the ship. He gave the place a wide once-over, noting first the smouldering weeds behind the thrusters before moving on to the rest of his surroundings. Blue sky, dead wilderness. There wasn't a single road in any direction—not even an unpaved one. He couldn't see any sign of civilization whatsoever.

“Nice place,” he joked, tossing a grin over his shoulder.

The door slid shut.

“No one suspects it,” one of them answered, shrugging.

“How far is the nearest city?” Loki asked.

“About two hours east,” someone else said. “Three if you feel like skipping some trees.”

Loki sagged a little at the number, but he still managed a polite, “Thank you.”

A couple of them nodded in acknowledgement. Most didn't bother. Loki sighed and started walking.

Eastward, the ashen yellow gave way to grasses and wildflowers, and although there was no defined path, a sprawling set of hills on either side kept him well on track. He quickly noticed where they'd been referring to: an empty route far off to his left, treeless, sure, but winding in all manner of ways. It wasn't worth the convenience, he decided, and he continued down the main trail.

Save for the occasional flit of an insect, he found himself utterly alone, and the quiet brought a bounding chaos in his head. He thought. It was all he could do.

Asgard; they weren't all dead, he knew, but the numbers would probably fit on his hands, and if they weren't dead, they were either dying or lost in space, eons from anything or anyone familiar. Thor was dead. He was strong—stronger than him, if he was being honest—but the void was unforgiving, and the chance of making it out…

Thanos. Loki _wanted_ him to be dead; he didn't want to consider what the bastard had accomplished in just his short absence. But no: his enemies were alive and kicking, and everyone he wished was alive wasn't—as always.

The universe's cruelty was only somewhat overdue.

⸎

Loki rolled into a bustling community around noon, a little tired, a little hungry. He was minimally recharged by the time he crossed the city limits, and with a persistent fear of discovery on his back, he thus made his first course of action to fully cloak himself. The magic needed was far less than his rate of recovery, so he didn't worry about sustaining the spell; getting it up had been the hard part.

He stayed steadily masked to the eye as he walked down the streets, dodging passersby and running through his plans. Hunger was his main concern; he could go days, weeks without food, he knew, but if he wanted to keep what energy he had, he needed something. There was no currency on him that locals would accept—not a chain, anyway, which most of the businesses were—and with his invisibility still holding, simple theft was probably his best option. If honour was an issue, he ignored it.

He swung into the next grocery store he passed, nabbed a chicken salad, a fork, and that morning's newspaper, and then swung out. He didn't care enough for a proper chair, opting instead for the nearest curb. There, he flipped to the world news, started on his salad, and began to read.

Well—America hadn't exploded yet, the icecaps were still melting, and someone somewhere had some very strong opinions about a very petty topic, so things were going fine as of a few hours ago. A few hours, however, were more than enough time for the situation to shift from fine to decidedly not-fine, and with Thanos at the helm—

Loki threw the paper aside and resumed eating.

That there was no Asgard to escape to if things got bad weighed heavy on his mind; so did the uncertainty surrounding Thor's current status. Maybe they weren't on the best of terms, but he was all Loki had left. He couldn't afford to lose that last semblance of family.

He spent a long time staring at nothing in particular, wondering if there was anything he could do to ease his conscience. For a moment, he considered helping the Avengers, using his knowledge of Thanos and his army for a kind of good, but they'd shoot first, ask questions later. In-person wouldn't work, no. He had another idea—something a little more reasonable.

 


	3. The First Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous tip is received.

Thousands of miles from Loki's current location, a handwritten letter suddenly materialized in a cafe, right in front of one Tony Stark. He was mid-conversation with Pepper when a sheet of regular, nondescript paper floated down and settled face-up on the table. They stared for a moment, equally confused, before Tony took it into his hands.

“What does it say?” Pepper asked.

“Hold on,” Tony said, eyes on the text. It read:

> Stark,
> 
> If my memory serves me right, Earth is currently in possession of two Infinity Stones. You know what these are and what they are capable of. What you don’t know is that a very powerful and dangerous man is looking for these stones as part of a plan that threatens an exceedingly large portion of life in the universe. He won’t bother coming. More likely, he’ll have his most trusted attack. Do not underestimate them. Find your allies as soon as you read this and make preparations.
> 
> I spent a long time with these people against my will. All you need to know about me is that I’ll do everything in my power to make them pay for what they did to me. I wish you and the rest of the Avengers the best of luck.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> A friend

Beneath the closing was a string of numbers that Tony recognized as coordinates, and beside them, an arrow and “irritating but useful.” He squinted.

“Well?” Pepper said.

“Something about some guy attacking us. Soon.”

“Oh. So I guess you're—”

“Maybe.” Tony set the letter down. “No surprises,” he said, cracking a humourless smile. “So much for that.”

Pepper frowned. “You don't even know who sent this.”

“Nope. I think it's worth looking into, though. There's something—”

“Odd?”

“Well, yeah, it just showed up out of nowhere, that's pretty odd.” Tony smiled again, then sighed and shook his head. “I don't know. All that info is just—it sounds legit, honestly. I need to check this out. I can't just… ditch when stuff comes up. God,” he muttered. “We can't get one normal day, can we?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay, I'm gonna order another coffee first, I think, because something tells me I'll need it. Actually”—he paused—“can you deal with that?” He lifted the sheet and pointed to the coordinates. “I need to see where these lead.”

“You are _unbelievable,_ ” Pepper said, and flagged down a waitress.

Tony pulled out his phone and plugged in the numbers. The result he got, curiously, was a meagre two or three minutes away in the suit. There was nothing that stuck out about the place; in fact, it seemed like something he'd passed multiple times and never noticed.

He thought of the note again. The likelihood of him finding his allies was… nonexistent, if he was being honest. Irritating but useful sounded like a good enough replacement.

Pepper pushed the freshly filled mug into his hand and he quietly thanked her.

“Did you find them?” she asked.

“What?”

“The coordinates.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I did.” Tony folded the letter and stuck it in his pocket. “They're right nearby.”

Pepper gave him a vague, thoroughly unamused look.

“I'll make it up to you,” Tony continued. He brought the mug to his lips, saw that its contents were a mostly drinkable temperature, and then tipped it back, finishing them in one breath. “I'll make it up to you,” he said again, placing the mug in front of him. “I'm—”

“Sorry? Yeah.”

Tony made to respond, but nothing came. He sat there, defeated, and then stood, circled to Pepper's side of the table, and bent to kiss her, softly, sweetly, and all too fast. “Yeah,” he said, evening his posture. “I'm gonna… go now. Don't do anything crazy.”

“Bye, Tony.”

He turned and left.

That day's outfit had the Iron Man housed entirely in the chest, so all it took was a tap of the hand and some half-dozen seconds to form the armour. It melted seamlessly around him, much to the awe of whoever was watching—the whole street, it seemed; he paid them no mind. Once equipped, he flew off and headed straight for the building in the letter.

 

As it happened, the trip didn't even hit two minutes, with Tony landing in front of the entrance at just shy of a minute and thirty seconds. He called the armour back and stared dubiously up at the building. It looked a little weird, admittedly, but it was weird in a “shady bookstore” kind of way rather than “there's someone in here who can help in saving the world”. Still, there was no harm in verifying.

He walked up, thrust the doors open, and was surprised to find himself in the middle of a four-way conversation to locate him.

“Speak of the devil,” one of them said, raising an eyebrow.

Tony glanced at him, holding the stare somewhat longer than intended. “You look familiar,” he said. “Have I seen you somewhere?”

“Possibly.”

“Huh.” Tony gazed past him, fixing on a massive pile of rubble in the centre of the room. The ceiling had collapsed, by the looks of it, and a ways from that—his eyes went wide. “Bruce? What the hell?”

Bruce forced a lazy wave from where he was sprawled on the stairs, dusted with old blood and wearing what were definitely not his own clothes. “Hey, Tony.”

“How,” the same man went on, “did you know to come here?”

“Uhhhh…” Tony considered the letter. “Gut feeling,” he casually answered. “Who are you, again?”

“I'm Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme.”

Tony nodded slowly. Useful, if the title was any measure, and irritating; oh, this guy was going to be irritating as hell. “I'm—”

“I know who you are.”

Yep, Tony already hated him. He forced himself to keep a neutral tone as he asked, “What's going on?”

The room fell silent.

“Thanos,” Bruce answered.

“Thanos? That's his name?”

“A gut feeling,” Strange repeated in disbelief. “Really, Stark?”

“Yeah, what do you want me to say? That I was in the middle of a date and this letter just appeared out of nothing, telling me some guy wants the Infinity Stones?”

“What?”

Tony retrieved the paper and held it up with an expressionless shrug.

“How do you know what it says is true?”

“I don't,” Tony said, tucking it into its previous spot. “Figured I'd come here and find out for myself.”

“It is,” Bruce said. “Thanos—” He drew a trembling breath of air. “It's true, and he'll stop at nothing. We're all dead.”

“No, don't say that.”

“I was _there._ I saw him—I fought him, and that didn't work, and—he killed everyone. That was at the very end. I was stepping over corpses, Tony. I shouldn't even be alive.”

“Wait,” Strange began. “Do you feel that?”

They both stilled.

“Wind,” Tony said. “The roof's busted; of course there's _wind._ ”

Then they heard the faint echo of faraway screaming.

Bruce scrambled to his feet and started, “The Avengers—”

“There's no Avengers,” Tony cut in, making for the entrance.

Bruce stumbled after him. “What do you mean, there's no Avengers?”

“I mean—” Tony shoved the doors open, wincing as the screams loudened abruptly, and stepped outside. “I mean we broke up.” Find your allies, he thought with a laugh; there was no such thing. He could have called them, sure, and he was undoubtedly making a mistake by choosing not to, but—

“Like a band?” Bruce said, brows knitting.

Tony ignored him and continued down the street, slipping back into his armour as he walked. Bruce awkwardly followed, as well as Strange and the other.

The screams kept trailing. Sirens sounded. Past a crumbled, burning wall, Tony could see the first body. There was no underestimating whoever was responsible; he couldn't if he wanted to. He appreciated the gesture, though.

He called Pepper, told her he might be a while, and then turned his weapons to maximum strength.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna say it right now, I have NO IDEA at this point where the letter thing is gonna go. are tony and loki gonna date???? who knows lmao find out more at 6 on What The Hell's Happening In This Story?


	4. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light armour doesn't instill much confidence in Loki when he considers his future enemy. The city he's found might hold a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole "write what comes to you and keep the revising minimal and seriously just go for it oh my god" thing is kinda freaking me out but it's good practice for getting over my perfectionism anxiety, I think. all I know is it's ending with me actually going back after I've posted a chapter just to scrutinize my writing which is. also not good. because then I end up editing things and people don't know I've edited them lmao. but I'm trying to stick to just grammar fixes so
> 
> anyway YEET have another chapter

 

Loki was still thinking about how he should have snuck something off the ship when he learned that the town he'd found himself in was home to a locally-renowned blacksmith, and although he was fairly certain nothing they made would match Asgardian quality, he decided to pay them a visit anyway. Most of the weapons on him consisted of knives and daggers, which certainly wouldn't work in a non-illusion scenario; his armour was probably fine, but he could stand to do something about that, too.

Once out of sight, Loki switched out of invisibility and into a simple glamour of black pants and a matching tee, not bothering with the rest of him—face and the like—as he doubted anyone would notice; they usually didn't. From there, it was a short walk to the shop. He pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The shop was a large, one-room building with a reception near the door and a sprawling, labyrinthine studio behind it. Various works hung on the walls, each showing a particularly impressive level of detailing that seemed to be the smith's signature. A sign at the front listed various base prices, and Loki frowned a little, suddenly remembering that he was still only in possession of non-Earth currencies. They were all valuable materials, he knew—especially here. Maybe, then, he could barter. It was worth a try.

He rang the bell and waited.

A heavy clang and a string of curses burst from somewhere in the building. Several seconds later, a rugged, sweat-soaked man appeared from behind one of the shelves and made his way to the reception, where Loki was waiting with an amused half-smile.

“What can I help you with?” the man asked, resting his arms on the counter.

“I think,” Loki said, “I'd like a sword for a change.”

“A sword, huh? Anything else?”

Loki paused, considering his current gear: thick leather, the alien, uncommonly sturdy hide of some creature reinforced twice over. It probably _was_ fine; it had gotten him so far with no problems. Still, he added, “And some armour. Just a breastplate and greaves ought to be fine.”

“Sword and armour, alright. Not sure what you'd need them for, but okay. The price of something like that—”

A stack of gold blinked next to the cash register with a metallic rustle. “Does this work?”

The man stared, mouth agape. “You know what,” he said after a moment, “I'm not even gonna ask. Yeah, it works. Anything particular in mind? Or is strong and sharp all you care about?”

“More or less.”

“Right,” he muttered, scribbling something in a notebook. “And your measurements?”

Loki paused, scanning his memory for the required conversions and taking a few seconds to calculate the data before providing him with a sufficiently Midgardian set of numbers.

“And nothing in mind for that either?”

“Just regular armour.”

“Alright then, sword and armour. That should be done in… a few days?”

“How long if I double your payment?”

“Less.”

“Deal.” Loki formed another handful of gold atop the pile and made to leave, saying, “I'll come by later this evening.” Then he stopped. “Actually”—he looked up—“I do have one request, come to think of it. Make everything as cold-resistant as possible, could you?”

“Yeah, whatever you say, I guess.”

“Thank you…”

“Anderson,” the man filled in.

“Son of Anders?”

“Uh, just Anderson.”

Loki chuckled. “I'm kidding. I know patronyms died years ago.”

“Oh.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Anderson returned to his studio, mumbling something about not enough time. Loki sympathized with him a little, but a war was raging and the crossfire was fierce. If peace of mind meant ruining someone's day, well—they'd live. His was a different story.

Loki headed back down the street, weaving his way through passersby with a nod and occasional excuse me. He was still tired and in dire need of a breather, so when he spotted a café along his route, he gave it no further thought and entered.

Eyes fell on him the instant he closed the door. It wasn't everyone, which would have alerted him well enough that something was wrong; he caught maybe four or five looks out of the thirty people in the room, and people usually looked to see who any newcomers were, regardless of the situation. Still, Loki couldn't help but feel a prick of paranoia. Thor—

 _Thor,_ damn it—

had always been with him for any extended visits post-New York, leeching his attention and making sure no one lingered too long on his visage—long enough to think, hey, wait a second, is that who I think it is? That was why he never needed to mask anything other than his clothes to stave off possible recognition, because at the end of the day, he was no one; without the horns, without the staff and all that, he passed for an average human male most of the time. A little too tall, a little too pale, but an average human nonetheless—until people lingered, which was when they roamed into déjà vu territory, remembered, recognized, and then…

The looks faded.

Loki sighed and went to order, gratefully accepting the lack of a lineup. He ordered a plain coffee, sugar and no cream, and paid in the form of a single gold coin and a sly grin. If that didn't tip them off, nothing would.

The girl gave an expression bizarrely like she'd received payments like that before, dropped the coin into the cash register like it wasn't an alien currency, and then mirrored the grin. Loki got his drink a few seconds later and settled at an empty table.

“They're idiots,” someone was saying, and he perked. “Everyone acts like they're these big heroes, and I get it, kind of, but—shit! I was down in the States a while back and met a few and they're _idiots._ Like Thor—”

Ah.

“That guy's fucking clueless,” the man went on, just as Loki popped the lid and set it aside for faster cooling. “People are like, give the guy some credit, he's from another planet, but—”

“No offence,” his tablemate said, “that's pretty racist. Even for you.”

“Come on, we both know it's true.”

For a moment, Loki considered ignoring the men; all he'd do was bring attention to himself. But oh—for crying out loud. He sighed and placed his coffee beside the lid. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, leaning over his seat, “but would you mind shutting up?”

The men—both young and somewhat scraggly—stopped and stared, mouths open. Loki matched their gaze and took a calm, restrained sip, waiting for an answer.

“Free country, kid,” the first one said; the other retreated into himself, clearly unwilling to defend him. “I say whatever the fuck I want.”

Loki inched both eyebrows up, lips still on the cup's rim. He lowered the cup and allowed a faint smile to grace him. “Oh,” he said, “is that so?”

“What do you care what I think about that guy?” the man snapped. “Who the fuck is he to you, your boyfriend?”

The words were out before Loki could halt them: “Brother, actually.”

“ _Brother?_ He doesn't have a fucking—”

“He doesn't? Are you sure?” Loki watched, his smile growing, as the man's expression shifted from confusion to fear in one swift moment of realization. “So let me say this again: either you shut up, or I tear off your leg and shove it so far down your throat your feet touch, and _make_ you shut up.”

“What.”

“I won't hesitate.”

They left at once, stumbling for the doors without looking back. Their coffees sat half-drunk on the table, and at that, all Loki could do was laugh. He laughed until he felt like crying, asking himself why he would defend Thor like that, why he would risk his cover for some arrogant nobody—yet he knew. He knew exactly, and he cursed himself and tried to return to his drink, but it was all he could think about.

Thor was dead; even gods couldn't last that long in the void. Unless he'd been found, and he hadn't, couldn't have been—

Thor was dead.

Thinking those words was like an itch that couldn't be scratched: Loki acknowledged its presence and ignored it to the best of his ability. It was there and there was nothing he could do about it, same as worrying about Thor wouldn't bring him back. Admitting it eased his mind.

He sighed and tossed the empty cup.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit to my friend for coming up with that glorious threat


	5. Cutting Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony receives a word of grim caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these chapters are depressingly short but mostly it's because I've been starting new ones with each scene change. anyway it's a big jump from 7k+ chapters and I Don't Like It

> Stark,
> 
> Maybe you know this already. If you don't, you'll likely find out.
> 
> There will be times when you’ll be tempted to hand Thanos the stones for someone’s sake. I let him convince me into doing so, and I was a fool. Lives can be brought back; I guarantee there are ways. But if Thanos proceeds with his plan, much more than a single life will be lost. If it’s even possible to come back from what he wants to do, it won’t be easy.
> 
> Don’t let them win.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> A friend

The letter found Tony in the Q-Ship with Peter Parker and Doctor Strange, still processing Ebony Maw's death just minutes earlier, and it was Peter who caught it when it materialized with a shimmer of green and gold. He skimmed wide-eyed through the entire text before it was ripped from his hands.

“Come on, kid, is your name Stark?”

“Sorry.” Peter frowned. “Who's the friend?”

“Don't know, don't care,” Tony answered, folding the sheet and sticking it in his pocket, next to the previous one.

Peter's frown only deepened. He sat on one of the ship's protrusions, listening to the soft rumbling of the engines, and pondered the question on his own. Whoever was penning had both given Thanos an Infinity Stone and clearly had ties to Tony Stark, and that alone should have been telling, especially to Tony. Peter had the overwhelming sense that he knew; if he did, though, he wasn't sharing. Strange might have had a guess, but he seemed to care even less about the letters—forget identifying the author. It was just him.

He didn't know much about the Infinity Stones, for starters; he knew they were powerful, he knew Thanos was looking for them, and he knew Strange had one. That was the extent of his knowledge.

Back to the letters.

He wondered if it was someone he knew, or if it was a complete stranger. Both were equally possible. If they hadn't met, he wondered whether they were friendly, what kinds of things they liked, and if they would in fact cross paths someday. Maybe, maybe not. He couldn't say anything with certainty.

The prospect of an anonymous informant was certainly a curious one, but Tony had likely had more than enough in his time. He probably hadn't even blinked.

Peter stood and absentmindedly examined the ship's controls. The curiosity was killing him, but he didn't probe.

 


	6. The Bitterness of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old wounds are reopened and Loki meets an unexpected stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello naughty children it's time for pain

 

Breathe; breathe and keep breathing, Loki told himself, barely conscious of the words. The air burned—

_(wait no)_

Not the air; just his lungs. His lungs burned—

because he'd gotten water down the wrong pipe, he remembered. Breathe. Keep breathing. He choked again, felt his wrists catch on the restraints as he convulsed too hard, and swallowed back the roughness. It wasn't intended this way, he knew; they were supposed to get him on the outside, light an imaginary fire _there,_ but this—

oh, in their minds, this was a bonus.

Loki heaved another breath and told himself now, this isn't real. This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't _real_ —

but gods, it felt like it. The chains were as cold as they had always been, binding him to the ceiling, too short for him to stay in any position but standing. His legs were numb and he couldn't think of when he'd last had food or water in him—days ago, probably, one of those days when they'd force the most menial form of sustenance down his throat just to keep him alive for another session, and another, another, another—

Loki stopped counting.

The days bled together like the marks on his body: didn't matter where one started and one ended, because they'd just keep coming. It was worse now; something had been said, done, and the sessions had changed. He was too stubborn, too strong, and look where that got him.

Not real, he repeated to his subconscious, not real, but the sweat and tears slicking him felt realer than anything.

It wasn't even hot water they used; it fell well under the point of scalding. With his magic as it was, though, it hurt as much as being burned alive, and without all the complications—no complications, because that's what they were, and they were sorry, they said. And he begged, not to them, not entirely, but to someone; he begged and prayed aloud to wake in his palace room, in a soft bed away from every bruise and broken bone, every slash and stab, every drop of blood—everything forgotten, cast aside like a bad dream.

It wasn't quite a warm, familiar bedroom, but the night was close enough. A hazy sense of unreality that shrouded his days liked creeping in completely around then, when it was dark and quiet and it seemed like the whole place would disappear if he blinked. The cell became a little too fuzzy, a little too wrong, and it was then that he was more aware of _himself._ He'd realize how many half-healed, festering wounds he had across his body, how much his back and neck ached from forcing himself to sleep upright so frequently, and he'd linger on the pain longer than he probably should have, thinking about how he really didn't mind too much after a while. Pain was a small price to pay; it meant it was working, meant all the lies wouldn't have such a hold on him someday. He'd see his true purpose, just wait.

No.

Not this time.

Loki breathed in, a genuine, solid breath with no water blocking it, and focused on his here and now. Traffic ahead, stairs at his feet, arms around his knees. Tears on his face, just like then. Cool breeze. Glamour covering him. No pain; not anymore. His skin tingled, an afterimage of the memories, but there was no pain.

The curb was still wet.

He staggered to his feet, wiping the tears from his cheeks with a palm, and glanced feverishly left and right. The entryway had masked him well enough, but surely, someone had seen him—maybe just one person, but someone, nonetheless. He wasn't invisible; he double-checked. If anyone had looked his way while he was out, and he had no idea how long he was _out,_ then…

Embarrassment, most likely, and hopefully, nothing more.

He had been walking, killing time between his commissions and—what?—a final battle, his energy miraculously springing back to life without sleep, something, and just like that, he was on the steps of a random store, lost in his mind's recesses. Years after the incident, years after it had failed to affect him any further, his progress had been reset—just like that.

At once, the urge to personally kill Thanos reappeared, and this time—

This time, it didn't fade.

Loki merged into the sidewalk and resumed his stroll, unfazed.

It was early in the afternoon and rumours had begun drifting through the city, most prominently of an attack on New York— _another_ one, they stressed, much to his chagrin. Strange had allegedly been kidnapped and Stark had followed, and both were now on a large, ring-shaped ship, the description of which was all too familiar.

The most recent letter had been sent with no issues, so the intended recipient was evidently still alive, and by extension, Loki assumed, Strange. He wasn't concerned with their wellbeing so much as whether or not the Time Stone was safe; as he'd written, and truthfully so, lives could be brought back. If the need arose, he'd revive a hero or two, if only to ease his conscience. Now, though, his priorities were elsewhere.

A nap would still do wonders, but even if he found somewhere to rest, his nerves would keep him up, so all he could do was keep wandering and waiting for the blacksmith. In the meantime, maybe something else would come—information about the other Infinity Stones' status, for one; if he was lucky, about the Statesman, too. He didn't set his expectations particularly high.

He lingered near the shop but didn't shy away from exploring the neighbouring streets, weaving through alleys and intersections like they were the most interesting thing in the world. It was on one of the streets, on the sidewalk opposite him, that he saw a child—a regular, golden-haired child of about seven or eight, fighting tears and squeezing between passersby with frequent excuse mes, and he almost ignored them; lost parents, he figured, and while he'd help if needed, it was crowded enough that someone else would happily fill in. He almost ignored them. At second look, though, the demeanour stuck out too much, and so did the clothes—and suddenly, he remembered.

He glanced once at both ends of the street, dashed across, and then slowed to match their pace, saying, “What happened?”

If the appearance was a coincidence, the spark in the child's eyes upon seeing him was anything but. They stopped walking and stared up at him in wonder. “Prince Loki!”

Oh—there was no mistaking it.

The title was jarring, but he grinned nonetheless. “Prince Loki,” he repeated. “And you are?”

“Svala Syrkksdóttir,” she replied, bowing. “Where is the king?”

“Not here, I'm afraid.” He held his tongue, didn't mention his suspicions that Thor was dead as he continued, “Are you alone?”

Svala nodded. “I was with my mother, but… she was too injured.”

Loki's expression soured. He led her away from the foot traffic and knelt next to her, watching as she did the same. “How many Asgardians are left?” he asked, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Twenty-seven,” she said.

No.

“Is that a confirmed count?”

“It's pretty close.”

No no no.

Something hitched in Loki's chest and he closed his eyes, took a shaky breath. He didn't even like them that much; after everything they'd done, after all the pain they'd caused him, he shouldn't have felt anything. He felt it, though—did he ever feel it: the same break he'd felt on the ship, that sense that the world had been pulled inside out, that fear and emptiness, and at the fore of it all, a want for vengeance. The bodies were one thing. This, a simple number and nothing more, was tame in comparison; it was nothing he didn't already know. But—

But.

Loki cleared his throat. “What kind of wound was it?”

“No, it _is!_ She's alive. She sent me for help.”

Maybe he had a little luck left after all.

“Oh, Svala,” he said, shaking his head, “you should've led with that. What kind of wound _is_ it?”

“I don't know. Rubble from the ship fell on her and she was fine for a while, but now she's bleeding a lot and—I don't know.”

“Where is she?”

Svala's eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet, wind-like in her movements, and darted past him. Loki chased after her, silently marvelling at her agility.

Svala brought him to an empty alley, far from anyone's sight, where a woman sat crumpled against a wall. She peered once at them, her eyes clouded, and then let her gaze drift back to the wall. Along her waist, her dress was soaked crimson, starkly contrasting with the white of the fabric. Loki grimaced.

“Alright,” he muttered, bending to meet her. He needed to save his strength, but he couldn't let her die—not when there was a child staring at him expectantly; not when there were so few lives left.

He took a deep breath and rolled the dress up, revealing an oozing gash across most of her right side.

“I don't know how much I can heal,” he said to Svala, calling energy into his fingers. “It's not exactly my specialty.”

“Please try.”

Reluctantly, he pressed his hand to the wound and began stitching the fibres together. Muscles reformed and skin grew to cover them, crawling from the edges inward under a mask of green light, and he pushed down harder, wincing as his magic flowed almost on its own. Beneath the blood, the skin was still a mottled purple. He grit his teeth and shot a small burst of energy through it, clearing the bruises over the course of a few seconds and advancing the seal at the cost of a wave of nausea; he inhaled sharply, took a moment to compose himself, and then sent another wave of magic into the wound, shutting it completely.

He killed the spell and immediately stumbled back, breathless.

“Loki!” Svala yelped. “Loki, are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” he answered, leaning his head against the wall with a groan. “I'm just tired. Is your mother well?”

Svala turned to face her, eyes wide. The woman shifted and slowly smiled, at which Svala leapt to embrace her. Loki only now noticed how similar they looked; they shared the common Æsir complexion, of course, but they also had the same bouncy curls and brown eyes, and sloped, gentle-looking brows—identical in every way.

He sat properly and forced a smile of his own.

“Thank you, Loki,” Svala said.

“Loki,” her mother repeated, pulling her dress down. “Where is your brother?”

“He's not here,” Loki said. “I've”—he breathed in—“lost contact with him. I don't doubt his wellbeing, though.”

“Of course. Thor is strong. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's just fine.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Where are the other Asgardians? Did they all arrive on Midgard?”

She nodded, saying, “It was the best location we could think of—and we found a pathway leading almost directly here shortly after the attack, hence how we arrived so early. But…” She gave a thoughtful look. “I'm afraid the group was separated; we didn't all land together.”

“They're on the same continent, though?”

“I believe so.”

“That's good enough. I'll find them. But right now—” Revenge. Anything. Even just making sure someone else succeeded in Thanos's defeat. Loki sighed and said, “I have more pressing matters at hand. The ones who attacked us are still alive and planning something wicked. I can't ignore them.”

“I understand,” she said, smiling sadly. “Be careful, Loki. Return to us in one piece.”

For a moment, he wasn't sure if he heard correctly; he was so unused to receiving genuine concern for his safety. The smile, though, bitter as it was, spoke measures. They cared—both of them.

Loki staggered to his feet, trying not to let his exhaustion show too much, and forced a smile of his own. “Don't overexert yourself,” he softly said. “I'm not sure how well I healed your wound.”

With that, he headed off.


	7. Fate Wills It So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki receives his finished armour and weapon, as well as some pleasant words of encouragement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is progressing too quickly for my taste but I'd rather not add Meaningless Filler so jhjkhgfhgj (I might edit it when it's completed but idk)
> 
> p.s. I read every comment and I love you all immensely

 

Late afternoon. Tension was rising and it seemed not a single person hadn't heard of the events that had transpired in New York—and in fact, Loki was less than pleased to learn, they were old news; most of the rumours now revolved around the African country of Wakanda, and how it had weathered an assault from a massive alien army.

Loki had some guesses regarding the army, as well as why they'd attacked. The rumours seemed optimistic enough, but he couldn't help but wonder if they'd found what they'd been looking for. If they had, he was in trouble.

Thanos's plan was nothing unknown. He had repeated it incessantly over the years, whether bits and pieces or full paragraphs, and Loki, between his time in the cells and serving that purpose, had heard all he needed. The culling would be quick, random, and irreversible—in other words, unavoidable. Once, his chances might have been a little less random, a little more biased in his favour, but after the Statesman incident, he figured he had the same 50/50 as everyone else; if or when it came to pass, all he could do was cross his fingers and hope. In the meantime, though, there was the possibility of running into any one of them, ill-equipped and unassisted, and then—

Death or capture. Or: he could prepare, and he could fight, and maybe this time, things would turn out differently. If his luck held, it would be Thanos he ran into; if not, he had still had the Earth to deal with.

Whatever the universe chose, Thanos or the Avengers or otherwise, preparations would do him good, and in this case, that meant a weapon and a boost to his armour. The deadline he'd set had been impossibly tight, and he doubted Anderson was even close to being done; with the situation as it was, though, it wouldn't hurt to check. So, slowly, Loki made his way back to the shop, praying his unease wasn't apparent as he moved through the streets.

The longer he lingered, the more he realized how sickeningly normal the town was. Overgrown greenery filled each crack and crevice, flocks of birds lined the rooftops, and every so often, a tune would drift down from somewhere—and much of it, he even enjoyed. It was one of those places he loved to simply stop and admire, and were it not for the knowledge chewing at him, he would have. If they succeeded—

If they succeeded, this might be the last he ever saw of a place like this.

He breathed in, breathed out, and tried not to let it panic him. Death on the ship would have been one thing; death now, after a fresh taste of the world, of freedom, of what he very well knew could be a brand-new start, no—death wasn't something he could stomach. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want to be captured, and he didn't want the third option, and damned if he wouldn't at least try to carve himself a fourth. What he wouldn't give now to be there on the battlefield, to feel the heat of attack, to show Thanos just how pathetic his warriors were—to ascertain that chance at not just survival, but at life.

_(no)_

He'd begun anew before and

_(you don't des_ ~~ _erve it_ ~~ _)_

he could do it again.

_(_ ~~_why did you make it off and they didn't?_ ~~ _)_

Loki took another deep breath.

The shop wasn't too far from where he'd wandered to, thankfully. He turned the corner, ensured his glamour hadn't somehow withered through a not-so-discreet glance at a car window's reflection, and then stepped inside.

“Anderson?” he called, leaning against the counter.

The reply came a few seconds later, echoing somewhere from the back of the room: “Yeah, I'm working on your stupid sword and armour!”

“How close are you to being done?”

A loud thud sounded, followed by a semi-audible curse and a sigh. “What,” Anderson said, plodding to the front with a huff, “do you even need them for?”

Loki thought about it. He settled on a half-truth: “Revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“And saving most of the universe from being slaughtered, I suppose.”

“You want to save the world.”

“I could always let someone else do it,” Loki admitted with a shrug, “but it's more satisfying if I do it myself.”

Anderson stilled. “Is it anything to do with—what were they called?—the Infinity Stones?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Why not leave it to the Avengers?”

“Like I said: revenge. And I don't trust them enough to survive whatever's coming. Unlike the Avengers, I have… somewhat of a history with the enemy. I know his tricks. His weaknesses. I should be the one to fight him.”

Anderson peered over his shoulder, then back at Loki. “I don't know what's happening,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't know what the odds are; the way you put it, they're terrible. If you really think you can win this, though, I'll help you.”

Loki smiled. “I appreciate it.”

Anderson returned to his studio, and Loki followed.

On one of the steel surfaces rested a pair of silvery greaves, and beside them, a similarly fashioned chestpiece. Loki picked up the greaves and looked them over. They were well-shaped, curved and bearing several thin layers, and the belts to secure them were dyed black and stitched with a pleasantly contrasting white. Appearance hadn't and couldn't have been prioritized, but an effort was clearly made in spite of everything.

“What material is this?” he asked.

“Titanium alloy,” Anderson replied, sticking the sword inside a furnace. “Same thing Tony Stark uses. Or used. Dunno if it's the same thing in that new suit of his.”

“May I?”

“Go for it.”

Loki bent and buckled the armour to his shins, minding the glamour he still had on. He wiggled one leg, then the other, and then stopped. It wasn't worth the risk; magic of any kind would wreck his cover in an instant, and anyway, silver wasn't such a bad colour. Still, he stood, and with a wave of his hand, he brought a shower of green sparks upon the metal. They rained down the surface and pooled on the concrete floor with a sound like shattered glass before fading entirely, revealing a gold colouring underneath—a permanent glamour safe from unwilled dissipation, much like the ones he wore so regularly.

“That looks much better, doesn't it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Anderson said, staring wide-eyed at the new colour, “yeah, that looks really nice. But how—”

“Don't worry about it,” Loki said with a smile.

Anderson spent another moment examining the armour, then gave a nervous, humourless laugh and returned his gaze to the sword.

Loki turned and lifted the breastplate. It was two-sided, with the same leather belts linking the front and back panels. He unhooked the left side's clasps and then froze, suddenly and uncomfortably aware he'd need to shed his civilian's glamour if he wanted a true gauge of the fit. Anderson was still busy finalizing the sword's temper; if he was quick, he could recast the disguise and no one would be the wiser—twenty seconds in and out, he estimated. Or…

“Do you believe people can change?” Loki asked, glancing at him.

“Sure,” Anderson replied. “People change all the time.”

“What about criminals?”

“Yeah, of course. Something you did in the past shouldn't define you for the rest of your life.”

“You say that,” Loki muttered, “but I don't think you'd be too pleased if someone of ill past were in this room with you.”

Anderson looked up from the sword, an equally frightened and curious haze appearing in his greenish eyes. The weapon was half-molten, unwieldy to strike with, but by the way his grip tightened around the pommel, it was obvious he had no issue using it if need be. His tone remained neutral, however; “I'd give him a chance,” he said.

Loki forced a weary smile in response and placed the breastplate on the counter. He brought a hand to his collar, leaving a couple inches' space between skin and fabric, and swept downwards. The cotton façade dissolved in a flash of gold, following the motion he'd laid out for it and leaving no trace of the unimposing shirt and pants he'd forged himself; the black-and-green leather armour underneath was now the only thing visible. It was vastly different from the ceremonial plates he'd worn when last he visited Midgard, but Anderson must have recognized something in the style, or maybe the magic, as anticipated. The look on his face was telling: fear, astonishment—forgiveness, too, Loki realized with a glint of relief.

“Would you still give him that chance?” he asked.

“I think I would,” Anderson replied, chuckling a little in spite of himself. “Now try that on.” He motioned towards the armour. “I want to see how it looks on you.”

Loki cast the same golden glamour on the metal and then carefully slid it on, making sure nothing got caught in its edges. He snapped the closures shut and tightened them accordingly, and then looked up at Anderson with a grin. “I think it fits perfectly. No one would ever be able to tell they're separate sets of armour.”

“You know what? I think you're right,” Anderson said, matching the grin. “It needs something more, though.”

“Wait.” Loki stepped away from the counter and searched the depths of his holding space for a particular item, a stretch of fabric that was one of maybe two or three he had of its kind. He called its energy and felt it vanish and then rematerialize on his back in the same golden shimmer, settling loosely against the curve of his spine. “Something like that?”

Anderson nodded. He pulled the sword from the fire, scrutinizing its length for imperfections, and plunged it in the neighbouring barrel, where it sizzled loudly for a few seconds. When the smoke faded, he took it out, shook the oil off, and set it on the table.

It was a simple broadsword with simple details, sharp as a razor and polished to a mirror-like shine—a fine weapon, Loki admitted to himself, despite the different technology and materials. Pressing his finger to the tip would barely leave a mark and he had the sinking suspicion that Thanos wouldn't be much better, but it more than sufficed.

“I still think you're insane to face all this on your own,” Anderson said, wiping away whatever hadn't cleared on its own with a cloth, “but damn—you're strong.” He stuffed the cloth in his pocket and sighed. “I've seen what you can do, and I think you've got what it takes, so good luck, Loki. Get out there and show 'em hell.”

Loki smiled and took the sword.

 


	8. Final Warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony receives another letter and makes a split-second decision following its contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: conditions everyone to expect daily updates  
> also me: doesn't update for like a week and when they do it's just another letter
> 
> the next chapter is almost done though I just need to edit some stuff, I'll probably post it later today or tomorrow

 

> Stark,
> 
> Thanos has a planned rendezvous shortly on the remains of Titan, where the Black Order were supposed to provide him with Earth's Infinity Stones. He'll be alone, and assuming you have a quick enough means of transport, I recommend you ambush him there. If you do decide to attack, bring as many fighters as you have. I assure you, he’s stronger than he looks, and the force of four Infinity Stones is not one to be reckoned with.
> 
> I’ll be watching.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> A friend

The letter found Tony still on the Q-Ship with Peter and Strange, having just resolved not several minutes earlier to keep the machine on its set course. It was a rather unpopular decision; the destination was hidden and could've been filled with any number of threats, and even if they knew where they were headed, surely it was better to return to Earth and help protect the Mind Stone? But Tony had faith in the rest of the Avengers, and the chance to catch Thanos off guard was one he couldn't pass up. Titan seemed a more than likely candidate for the unknown location on the dashboard.

The ship's engines worked tirelessly in the distance, carrying them far past the speed of sound. The screen showed a mildly fluctuating estimate of about a half hour to landing. It certainly wasn't enough time for a well-formed conclusion, but it seemed a good enough plan at the moment. It wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. But three people weren't enough. No, two—he wasn't particularly keen on including Peter in the fight. They needed more. He didn't know what they were facing. It was risky to begin with.

Tony wondered distantly if maybe the author was only feigning loyalty, if they were counting on him coming to Titan so they could return the ambush—if he was setting himself up for death. Yet he didn't change the course.

“Bring whatever help we can get,” was all he said, turning to Strange with a solemn look.

 


	9. Good Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is close to giving up when he suddenly obtains precious help where he least expects it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters read like rough drafts and I'm really considering going back and rewriting everything when I complete the fic lmao

Loki never planned on coming to Titan. It was too distant for the even the strongest of mages to teleport, let alone someone as drained as he was. Tapping into his emergency magic reserves would grant him enough strength to go just as far as the other side of America, perhaps Mexico if he was lucky—but to another part of the galaxy? Impossible. Neither was the Bifröst an option, not anymore. It would’ve been so simple.

He spent several long, fretful moments crouched alone in front of the blacksmith's shop, debating his next course of action. It felt like the only option he had left was to request Asgardian help, which was a patently humiliating proposal to say the least—but if killing Thanos meant anything at all to him, there was simply no getting around it. So Loki made his way down the street, ignoring the reactions his cape and armour brought. He had the decency to whisk his sword away before too many people noticed, but he couldn't be bothered to change his appearance. It didn't matter who saw or what they thought; he had more pressing concerns.

He found where he'd healed Svala’s mother and reached out, struggling to locate the pair's energy and where it led. The first attempt proved fruitless; so did the second, and the third, and the twentieth. It was hard to pinpoint a location when he didn't dare use any more magic than lingered in the alley, and he cursed and sat down with a huff.

Maybe Svala could hear intentions. Probably not, but...

“Svala, are you listening? I need your help,” he said to no one in particular.

A second passed in silence. And another, and another, until it became clear he wouldn't receive an answer. Loki sighed and left the alley, wondering just how slim his chances of finding any Æsir were. Or anyone who could offer assistance, for that matter, whether through a joint spell or lending him some energy. He didn’t care.

The skies were darkening at a disheartening pace, and Loki was no closer to Thanos’s home world. It broke him to know that after everything he’d been put through, he wouldn’t even be the one to kill him. He sat on the steps in front of a random shop and dropped his head in his hands. Just once, he wanted to speak his mind, tell him every evil thing that bittered his heart—hell, torture him a little if he had the time. He didn’t deserve an easy death, but maybe it was what he would get after all. And that made him _furious._

Fuck it.

“Any Asgardians capable of magic!” he hissed, squeezing out the most minimal amount of energy needed to send his message to those that fit the criteria—and only those that fit the criteria. “This is Loki. I need your help.”

Continuing to save his strength was meaningless; he didn’t have enough for a warp either way. So he repeated the message a couple times, making sure it spread to city’s edge. The escape crafts would have carried at least several others besides Svala and her mother, of that he was sure. Someone would hear him.

He sat there for a very long time, idly watching the people that passed him by. Some of them stopped to stare, and he stared back with a cheeky smile and wave, trying to distract himself from the situation. Sometimes people sat next to him, asking how he was doing, why he was wearing that outfit. He answered truthfully, but omitted his disbelief that the Avengers would be a match for Thanos out of decency. Some people stayed after hearing the spiel. Most left.

One person sat down and only asked, “What kind of help?”

Loki's eyes fell on a slim, nondescript blonde, and he chuckled. She'd clearly made an attempt to blend in, and it was a very fine attempt; she was dressed in a simple grey blouse and skirt, and her hairstyle followed the local trends. He wondered distantly if she'd previously visited Midgard.

“I need to get to Titan,” he said.

“Titan,” the woman repeated, head cocked, eyes clouded with deliberation. “Where is Titan?”

“Far from here. Too far to reach on my own, I'm afraid. Even I'm not that strong,” he added with a wry laugh.

The woman leaned in and placed a hand on Loki's shoulder. He stifled a flinch, watched as she silently read his strength through layers of armour. Her face curved into a frown and she pulled away, shaking her head bitterly.

“It won't be easy. But for you, dear Loki, anything.”

“'Dear'!” he cried, doubling over in laughter. “What have I ever done for Asgard to deserve such a title?”

“Everything, Loki. You helped us escape,” she said, face darkening. “You risked your life. Without you, our numbers wouldn't be twenty-seven. They'd be zero.”

Loki didn't answer. Night hung heavily on the horizon, bruising the sky and carrying with it a cold wind. The sinking sun was like a ticking clock. It gnawed at his insides, reminded him of the chances he was losing with each second to flay Thanos alive. He sighed and leaned back against the building's walls.

“What will it take?” he asked.

“Concentration. Another mage or two. I can't do this alone, Loki. I'm sorry.”

“Then we send out another call,” he said, closing his eyes, “and we wait.”

 


	10. Mother Earth's Delicate Tightrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finally closes in on his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unrelated but I saw that deleted infinity war scene that just came out and it's kinda fucking with my ideas for this story, which is 100% something that happens when you write shit before the series is done and I was expecting it to happen at some point, but Ew! lmao

Loki opened his eyes to a vast, star-filled expanse. He breathed in, wiggled his arms and legs, and stood. Beneath him was an ancient, knotted branch several metres thick and stretching so far the ends faded over the galaxy's horizon. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a tiny, blue planet under the watchful eye of a single moon. In front of him, the infinite tangle of Yggdrasil's limbs filled the universe like veins in a body. He knew the sight like the back of his hand. Every curve, every corner. It was a second home.

Long-distance teleportations were notoriously fickle. The Bifröst was the preferred option in such cases, but the effort he’d need to access it on his own was everything but practical. The other option, and the main one, was travelling via the world tree. (Technically, Yggdrasil and the Bifröst were both extensions of each other; technicalities, however, also proved that they were different enough to call for a distinction when speaking in terms of magic.) Usually, this meant harnessing its power to form a type of cosmic slingshot, in very basic terms—but if you were _Loki,_ this meant traversing it directly, using a complex blend of phasing, partial astral projection, and very, very good balance. The logistics were absurd and most days, he didn't even bother with them. All he knew was that it worked. He called it skywalking, and so far, he could count on two hands the number of people who could do the same.

The energy he'd been so graciously lent by the Æsir woman he'd met, along with two others, was more than enough for a round trip to Titan. All he had to do was find it. Lengths skewed on all such trips. So did time; one could spend an eternity walking along the world tree's bark and still arrive on land just moments later. Thus, he wasn't too concerned with how long it took to locate the planet. He knew more or less where it resided in the universe, and what it looked like, and that certainly wasn't enough to find it _easily,_ but it was enough to find it nonetheless.

He took a slow, gingerly step forward. The magic held. He took another, saw the same result, and then began a regular pace.

Loki hadn't skywalked in years. There were times when he'd come close, sure, exploiting the gaps as needed and using bits of the technique in short-distance warps, but he had never really _skywalked_ then. Not properly. In part, it was because it simply hadn't been necessary; ships and other implements sufficed for most trips, and the ones they couldn't just weren't common. Travel bore little presence in his life these days.

There was the other problem, of course: the actual mechanisms behind the method were…

Well.

The void gaped, its unforgiving blackness pockmarked by stars and nebulae. It wasn't particularly cold, nor did it affect his breathing or the way he moved. He wasn't near enough to feel the universe in its entirety. A misstep would easily change that, though; the lines here were finicky, dancing between existences second by second, and if he fell, there would be little to catch him. By the time he returned, he would be in the opposite corner of space, days, weeks, months away from any hope—if he even returned in the first place. And maybe, _maybe,_ someone would find him again.

No.

He would not fall. He would find Titan, find Thanos and the Avengers—assuming they hadn't died themselves—and everything would be just fine.

His foot slipped.

A voice in his head cried out—

_(he's falling falling falling with no end in sight, and the stars look so goddamn beautiful and the when the weightlessness hits, he's suddenly flying, he's not falling anymore, and he's so focused on that childlike wonder that he won't even notice when his body gives out)_

—and then he was back on the Bifröst after all, eyes wet with tears, a sweaty hand barely clinging to the bridge's shattered remains. The agony of knowing was too much to bear. One last bitter look at his not-brother, his not-father, one last wordless apology, and he let go. He watched as their forms distanced, as the red shift of light took effect, and closed his eyes.

He wanted to die. He _would_ die. Eventually, even he would succumb to the void's unforgiving clutches. The cold would prove too much, or the lack of oxygen, or perhaps it would be something as simple as starvation. Regardless, he would die sooner or later.

The cold, ironically, was the first to get to him. It was so tempting to shed his Æsir form and embrace the shielding Jötunn skin beneath, but the thought was shameful. All he wanted was to forget.

He passed out after several freezing hours of falling and awoke an indeterminate amount of time later—a day, a month, he couldn't know—in a small, dark room. His senses returned one by one, and he realized his wrists were tightly bound in spell-warding cuffs. His eyes were dry and scratchy and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He didn't panic; his first thought was he'd been found and rescued by Asgard, and they worried that he would attempt something foolish again, but his instincts screamed at him. Something was very, very wrong, they said.

He still wanted to die.

If he could use magic, he would have immediately summoned his sharpest weapon and brought it through his throat in one swift motion. If the force didn’t kill him, bleeding out would. But the cuffs wouldn’t open without a key, and they were too tight to consider options the likes of breaking his hands. So he sighed, leaned back against the concrete walls, and did nothing.

The image flickered.

Loki was still on the wooden path, still walking and far enough from Earth that the planet appeared no different from the stars around it.

He knew this would happen.

A few seconds passed. He steadied his breathing and cleared the thoughts from his head, and then calculated the rest of the way. There were enough shortcuts here that the trip was ludicrously shorter than it should have been, but it didn't make it much easier. The branches were chaotic, twisting around each other and obscuring his view. Sometimes the path was completely blocked and he had to jump off the side, onto another route.

He hadn't been walking long; he estimated about fifteen, twenty minutes on his end. Even so, he was growing tired of the labyrinth, tired of the memories—no wonder he never did this anymore. The only thing that kept him going was the chance of seeing Thanos perish. At his hand would be a bonus, but it didn't even matter anymore. He just wanted him dead.

Somewhere something knocked against the tree with a loud thud, and the sound shot his mind back to the next part of the memory.

There were voices outside. Loki tried to decipher them, but they were too far away to pick out words. He knew he heard concern, and he knew they were talking about him—guessed, rather. He couldn't be sure. Then there was silence, and someone came and unlocked his cell. He steeled his shoulders and tried not to flinch as a tall, heavyset man of a heather complexion quietly entered and closed the door from the inside.

Loki was still crumpled in chains, still wondering how best to kill himself, and he stared up at the man with a bleak curiosity as he began to speak. He remembered the conversation nearly word for word.

“I’ve heard of you,” the man said, his voice a low rumble. “Loki Odinson.”

“Laufeyson,” Loki softly answered. “I am no child of Odin.”

“Laufeyson, then. I'm sorry for keeping you like this. It was… necessary.”

“Why so?”

“We didn't know how you would react. We've never met, after all.”

“Precautions,” Loki said with a weak nod. “Of course. I understand.”

The man paused. “What do you desire, Loki?”

“That's a very broad question,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I don't desire anything, really. Your name, I suppose, and”—his lips quirked into a smile—“to be back rotting in space.”

“Thanos,” the man answered. “Why do you want to return?”

“It doesn't matter. Just let me go. Whatever you want, you're wasting your time.”

Thanos shook his head. “You're too valuable to lose.”

If there were any red flags raised—and there were—Loki simply couldn't bring himself to care. He was more focused on the sheer absurdity of Thanos's statement than the grave he was digging by entertaining his small talk. “What makes you think that?” he tried, chuckling.

“You're strong. I know what you can do.”

“Like what? Disgrace my family? No.” Loki closed his eyes, breathed in. “Let me go. I'm no use to you.”

Thanos didn't respond. He turned and left, locking the door behind him. Loki slumped against the wall and watched as his silhouette faded into the hallway's murky depths. Something had changed; he didn't know what. He'd said the wrong thing. It should have helped, should have gotten him out, but he was still chained up, still wanting to die—

He shivered. His thighs were numb; even his armour couldn't keep the stone's bite from his Æsir-shifted skin. What a laugh, he thought, coughing out a wry sob—the Jötunn king's own son couldn't bear something as mild as a cool floor! No wonder he left him. No wonder everyone else did, too. Even Thanos; that was the last time Loki saw him until—

Right before he got out, if he remembered correctly, which he didn't. Not really. It was a very long time was all he remembered. Thanos left like everyone else.

Loki glanced up, dimly aware of the faint tangle of branches at his feet. The darkness reminded him too much of everything to keep a clear mind, which was never good in this plane. He'd reached tears now, trying and failing to fight the memories. They kept clawing at his thoughts, wild, unrelenting. They wouldn't stop.

He evened his breathing, muttered a prayer to no one in particular, and forced himself to look ahead. The planet was close. He could feel it. His intentions were enough to bring a knowing light to his mind, guiding him by instinct. All he had to do was find a landing point.

He never wanted to enter the void again after that.

The path broke off and he leapt onto another branch. From there, he could see a sand-coloured orb taking shape, and he released a bitter sigh. The distance he had to walk was much shorter than it would have been in the physical plane; he reached the planet’s surface within a couple minutes and then sat down.

“I found it,” he said, thinking back to the city, those helping him power the spell.

The voice of the first woman he'd met rang in his mind: “How long?”

“Too long.” Loki shook his head. The tears were still present; hopefully they couldn't hear. Hesitantly, he added, “Thank you.”

“I'll leave you to it.”

The presence faded, and Loki set to work. He pushed his intentions to the magic’s fore and calmed his thoughts, making sure nothing of the trip remained in his heart, and with a single deep breath, he left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also @ the impatient frostirons: tony and loki meet in the next chapter (or the one after that depending on if I split anything lmao) and have a Close Moment together :^)


	11. A Dish Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has Thanos at his mercy. There is none to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news, bad news, and best news:
> 
> The good news: this chapter is ~~almost 3500~~ now ~5500 words long!
> 
> The bad news: I have zero buffer written for the next chapter and it'll probably be a bit before it's posted.
> 
> The best news: Disney is apparently launching a streaming service, and they're making not one, but several individual shows revolving supporting characters. One of those characters? Loki. I shit thee not, Disney has confirmed that Loki is getting a TV show starring Tom Hiddleston, and even if the service is some bullshit monthly payment of 99.99 buckarinos, BOY HOWDY THAT IS SOME GOOD FUCKING NEWS. My crops are watered, my depression is cured (literally, Infinity War isn't affecting me as much), and did I mention Loki is getting a TV show? Because he is.
> 
> Seriously. Look it up. And hope to fuck that the plans come to fruition.

Loki was perched on the ragged remains of a hill, eyes trained on a clearing at least a hundred metres below. Rubble from an ancient building surrounded its lifeless surface, and when the wind picked up, clouds of dust rose out of the ground. It was a very unimposing clearing, to say the least, one that was difficult to imagine as a grand meeting point. He imagined it was intentional; no one would dare stick their noses in such a depressing place, least of all someone as large and important as Thanos himself.

He could feel several presences hidden in the distance, and although they didn't strike him as particularly hostile, he stayed scarce nonetheless. A confrontation wasn't something he wanted to risk, not now. He leaned back against the dirt and cast his gaze upon the sky, where clouds swirled angrily. The sun and moons were lost to their depths, as was the large, ring-shaped ship he only noticed when it was the size of his fist. He blinked.

The vessel screeched to a halt a ways from the clearing, where it immediately toppled onto its side with a deafening boom. Flames burst from its seams and he choked a laugh. The door opened and he watched with a mildly amused smile as Tony Stark himself walked out, and behind him, Doctor Strange and a scant, red-clad boy he didn't recognize.

Loki's smile faded as the strangers he'd sensed sprung from their vantage, clearly under the impression that the three Midgardians were their enemy. He tensed and made to intercept the fight, but it wasn't long before the situation appeared to be resolved. The magic at his hands faded and he relaxed slightly. The groups agreed on a plan and disappeared behind separate hills and crevices, weapons drawn, eyes sharp. He considered joining them, but explaining himself wasn’t something he was keen on. Maybe later.

Loki felt a sudden buzz of power in the distance, and he cast a few feverish glances around him almost instinctively. The craggy terrain hid whatever was responsible, but a sickness in his stomach gave him a decent enough idea of whose it was. He stood and immediately cloaked himself.

Loki tensed at the sight of Thanos, ambling through the clearing with his shoulders high and a tight frown on his face. The gauntlet he wore had a total of four gems embedded in it, not the full amount but certainly a terrifying one. It was Strange who greeted him, having remained in the open unlike the rest. Loki couldn’t hear most of the conversation from his position and didn’t bother enhancing it. He got the gist; Thanos had leapt into a speech—gods help the listeners—of Titan’s destruction and his spurned plan to prevent it, and how he sought to keep the same fate from befalling other worlds. Loki barked a loud, humourless laugh, sincerely pitying Strange for indulging Thanos’s delusions.

Both parties were now silent, and the heroes took their cue. They leapt to the fore all at once, assaulting Thanos with a barrage of attacks.

Loki watched silently, keeping a short-range warp and the key to his sword at the front of his mind in case he needed them. Part of him wanted to join the fight already, but he was still weakened. He didn’t want to risk a death at Thanos’s hands unless he had to, and the heroes seemed to be faring well enough without him; nevertheless, he climbed down into the clearing, mindful of his distance and visibility.

Now a thin, blue-skinned woman joined the fray, quickly and easily distracting Thanos with just her presence. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for Strange and two others to pin him with a mix of magic and muscle. Another scrambled up his back and clamped her hands around his head, and Loki grinned as she proceeded to subdue him through what seemed like her mind alone. The rest of the group held him down as Tony grasped the gauntlet with both hands. His thrusters went up and he pulled, kept pulling until it began to slip off, and then pulled even harder.

Loki skirted them loosely, careful not to get caught in the chaos. Thanos had his fist clenched, but he wavered often enough that he couldn't regain a full grip on the gauntlet each time it moved a little farther out. His focus was barely there; Loki caught him gazing at nothing in particular, trying and failing to fight whatever the woman on his shoulders was doing. He drifted in and out of a conversation with one of the strangers, drawing the words out between long grunts of effort, and Loki wondered just how powerful she was—not powerful enough, he decided, as the discussion seemed to be dragging Thanos out of her hold. The pain on her face only worsened with each word.

“Stop,” Loki growled, taking a few steps toward the man. “We're so close. Don't ruin this.”

He didn't hear, of course, as Loki was still both invisible and inaudible. Still, it never hurt to try.

Strange caught Loki's eye in the next moment and he stopped, startled, as he appeared to be looking directly at him—expectantly, almost. Waiting for him to make a move. Loki held his gaze for another second, heart pounding, and then turned. The gauntlet was down to Thanos's last knuckles and the man was halfway through his sentence when he dropped his invisibility, ran up, and rammed him into the dirt.

Loki rolled off him and clambered to his feet with a wince. The man only stared.

“Don't be so reckless,” Loki said, dusting himself off. “We're for too close to victory.”

The gauntlet flew off a second later and landed several metres away with a dull thud. Loki's attention shot back to Thanos, who had been knocked to the ground by the pull's force; he watched with a hushed shock, along with the rest of the crowd, as Thanos stood, squeezed his now bare left hand into a fist, and glared up at them. His eyes fell on Loki almost immediately. “I killed you,” he hissed.

“Clearly,” Loki responded, “you didn't.” He smiled, half-conscious of his heart's sustained racing, and continued, “You know me better than that. Did you really think I'd give myself up so easily?”

The crowd thinned around them.

Thanos stepped back, his glare still present, and said, “I broke your neck.”

Loki faded again and formed an illusion to hold his place, perfectly unassuming as he circled behind him. “Did you?” the false him said, chuckling. “You _idiot._ You fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

“And that is?”

“Magic, dear.”

As if to prove his point, the illusion vanished and Loki became visible once more. Thanos turned. “Clever,” he said, an unamused smile on his lips. “I must have forgotten your title.”

“Which one?” Loki asked, summoning the sword in his right hand. He held it up and returned the smile. “I have so many, you know, I tend to forget them myself.”

Thanos glanced over his shoulder. The gauntlet had been dragged away and was under fierce protection by Strange. There was no point trying to get it back. “God of lies,” he said, facing Loki again.

“Right, because what is magic but a polished lie?” Loki snorted. “You hurt me, Thanos.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, looking at the sword. “Stab me? That went so well for you last time.”

“I can try.” Loki widened the distance between them and started slowly chipping away at his Æsir glamour, listing through an unfamiliar set of spells as he did. The sword, he decided then, was a decoy. Thanos wouldn't expect this.

“I'll kill you now,” he said. “You can't get away twice.”

“Is that a threat?” Loki flicked his wrist and formed a small cloud of frost in the palm. It tinted the skin, should have made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to care. No one seemed to notice, anyway. “You're not in a position for threats and you know it. I have my own magic; you don't.”

“I don't need magic,” Thanos said, advancing slightly.

Loki stepped back to match him. “You had two Infinity Stones and still failed to kill me,” he said, expressionless. He twitched his hand again and the cloud went opaque. “You claim you don't need magic, but if you couldn't succeed when you had it, why would now be any different? You'll fail now, too. Don't delude yourself.”

“Watch your tone,” Thanos growled.

“Oh, but you ignored the 'idiot'?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And no, actually, I won't watch my tone. Not with you. I've been watching it long enough.”

Before Thanos could react any further, Loki flung the cloud at his breastplate, instantly coating the metal in a thick layer of ice. The look on his face was almost comparable to confusion until the chill spread to the inside. He panicked then—some of it was likely pain, from where the freezing metal contacted his skin.

“You should've gone with an alloy,” Loki flatly said.

“I don't need armour to kill you,” Thanos hissed, clawing at his chest.

Loki shook his head and brought his free hand up, filling the sword with kinetic energy. The plan was such a cheap tactic that he almost expected it to fail, but he could spare an attempt. The most he'd do was embarrass himself—and how much more could he embarrass himself when he was already using his Jötunn magic? So he took a deep breath, raised the sword and struck the metal with a wide, heavy slash.

It shattered instantly.

In those brief several moments when Thanos was still reeling from the blow and Loki was still just a little surprised at his success, he became aware of someone's loud protests somewhere behind him, someone screaming no, don't you dare, he's mine—but the cries stopped as soon as they started. He swore he heard realization, recognition in the voice, and he wondered distantly if the stranger had decided that perhaps he needed revenge more than they did. Whether it was the Avengers' world-renowned arguing skills or just cosmic luck on his behalf, he didn't know. Frankly, it didn't matter.

He sighed and sent the weapon away in a glimmer of green.

“Hey, Loki!” Tony called behind him. “Need any help?”

“No, thank you,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “I'd rather do this alone.”

Tony nodded and left it at that.

Loki spared another moment and then brought up a thick, foot-long spear of ice in front of him in one swift motion, cautiously eyeing Thanos as he did. He could almost feel the colour in his hand climbing as his body fought against the foreign spell, but he didn't hesitate; he brandished the weapon proudly, kept a tight expression as he sent a fresh burst of kinetic energy through it. A faint hum sounded as the magic flowed inside.

The spear was thrust directly into Thanos's shoulder the instant he made to attack, coming out the other side with a gush of blood. He stifled a scream and stumbled back.

“Do you know how many times I tried to kill myself?” Loki hissed, ramming another shard through his body—the scream broke loose this time. “Too many to fucking count!”

“I gave you a purpose!” Thanos roared.

“You didn't do _shit!_ ” Loki roared back. “You took me at my most vulnerable and broke me down until I wanted to kill my own damn brother is what you did!”

“And you didn't already? You told me you wanted to make him pay!”

“I never said killing him was the way to go about it,” Loki snapped. “Don't you _dare_ twist my words.”

Thanos didn't bother responding, instead saying, “You were so passionate, Loki. I saw you out there. It wasn't just revenge. You trusted the plan. You fought for it.”

“What plan?” Loki cried, barking a wry laugh. “Saving the universe? I fought for myself, you dense bastard, not your stupid plan. I knew from that first blade you ordered into my skin that you didn't give a single sliver of a shit about _saving the universe._ You never wanted to save anything. You just wanted power. Tell me, am I wrong?” Thanos glared, utterly refusing to speak as he attempted in vain to remove the ice. Loki's expression harshened and he formed another rod in warning, but still, he remained silent. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” Thanos finally said, maintaining his glare.

“Then what _did_ you want? What did you hope to accomplish by nearly wiping Asgard from the face of the universe? Every great society that ever lived, Thanos—what did you think would happen when you slaughtered them like you did? It wasn't half,” he growled. “It was never half. They all perished at your hands. And what”—he suddenly raised his voice to near-yelling—“did you hope to accomplish by _torturing me?_ By forcing me to kill?” The shard ripped through Thanos before he could answer, and he grunted. Whatever response he'd planned died out in the pain, and he coughed and tried again, only for Loki to immediately cut him off. “Thanos, dear,” he snarled, “won't you give me another lecture on entropy? I'm begging you, tell me how killing trillions will fix poverty! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“If I were stronger—”

“Oh, you would kill me, no doubt.” Loki grinned, a wild, cold rage appearing in his eyes. “You would kill me with a snap of your fingers, wouldn't you? But you're not—you're here, clinging to your pathetic life by the skin of your teeth. You petty—” He broke off, laughing at his inability to even come up with an apt enough word. “All _that_ for me—I can't believe you. What a good thing I'm just as petty,” he added with another grin, “if not even more.”

Again, before Thanos could muster a reply, Loki swiftly formed a few more shards and shot them at random, watching the holes they left with a low chuckle. He could feel the absence of a glamour as his body struggled to reaccustom to his natal powers, and he should've felt naked, afraid. But he didn't.

“You miserable sack of shit,” he hissed. “You're not worth my time. If you were—oh, the things I would do to you. I'd make you wish you'd never been born.”

Thanos was on his knees now, coughing up blood and struggling to keep whatever shred of dignity he had left. The heroes stared wide-eyed at their dying enemy, and at Loki, who now bore a full Jötunn complexion. No one dared speak.

“From the very depths of my heart, Thanos—the Mad Titan, the beast who believed his ends justified the means—I hope you spend the rest of eternity rotting in whatever hole you crawled out of. May you never see even a semblance of relief, you selfish _fuck._ ”

With that, Loki formed the largest spear, a several metre-long rod of solid ice, and brought it through his head with the force of a bullet, pinning him to the ground and sending a burst of bloodied tissue out the back. He gagged a little as it splashed against the ground and felt the overbearing urge to look away, but he held his gaze. Clenched one fist, swallowed uncomfortably, forced himself to lock eyes until every proof that life had ever existed in them had faded, and kept staring until long after. For that single, brief moment, all he knew was the numb shock of his accomplishment. He couldn't think about anything else. Thanos was dead. Thanos was dead.

 

 

The last veins of frost around Loki's fingers quietly melted away over the course of a few seconds, and with them, the blue tint. He didn't know if the rest of him had followed yet. He absently touched his face, like he might've felt heritage lines, but save for a half-congealed splatter of blood on his cheek, there was nothing unusual to the texture—no grooves, no raised marks, no _Jötunn_ traits. Hopefully, that meant something.

He gulped again and slowly stepped back, lips tight, hands anxiously pressed together. Then, just as slowly, he turned. “Whose revenge did I steal?” he asked, in a soft, tentative tone.

The blue woman stepped forward. “Mine,” she firmly answered.

Loki examined her briefly. On another day, he might have laughed at the similar skin colours, maybe even spared a minute to try and figure out _what_ she was; she didn't seem Kree, and she certainly wasn't like him, which left a host of curious options. There was no humour to be found this time, though. He let his brows fall, offering an uncanny warmth to his expression, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry,_ ” she repeated in disbelief. “What did you need revenge for?”

“He killed my people.”

“He killed my _sister!_ ” she snapped.

“And my brother,” Loki calmly countered. “What's your point?”

She opened her mouth, quickly shut it, and then barrelled to the back of the crowd with an incoherent scream. He watched her pace for a moment before settling on the ground, defeated.

“He tortured you?” came the youngest voice. Loki frowned up at its source: the Midgardian boy from earlier. It sounded more like a statement than a question—a confirmation, rather. No, he didn't need to know. That it had slipped out changed nothing.

“I won't discuss that,” Loki responded, as politely as he could.

“Oh.”

“Hold up,” Tony barged in. “What the fuck? I thought you were dead. Wait—wait, you guys were with Thor.” He glanced at the strangers that had ambushed him. “And _he_ said—”

“Yeah, and then he left!” one of them answered. “That was ages ago. Maybe—”

“No, no way. God, what the _fuck!_ Peter, don't use that word.”

“Uh—”

“Okay, back up,” another said. “Who is this guy and did he just kill Thanos?”

“No, of course not!” Tony hissed. “Dude just had three tons of ice shoved in him and he's just gonna get right back up. What do you think?”

“Freaking out here,” Peter said.

“Oh my God, kid, shut up, I love you, but _shut up_. We're all freaking out.”

“I mean, it's not a really bad freak-out, but—”

“Would everyone stop?” Loki said, magically amplifying his voice; everyone immediately faced him. “Right, sorry if I got a little sadistic! What would you have done? Stark?”

“Wow, that's a really good question. Lemme think.” He gave a meaningful pause. “You know what? I kinda agree with you on this. What is this, like a—it's catharsis. Nah, that guy had it coming for a long time. Full support.”

“Yes, exactly! Thank you.”

“He seriously tortured you, though?” the same boy asked. “Jeez.”

Loki ignored the remark. “You're far too young to be here,” he said, taking another look at him.

“That's what I said!” Tony cried.

“I never should've gone to Nepal,” Strange muttered.

“Seriously?” Tony squinted in his general direction. “That's your biggest concern right now?”

Loki didn't listen to the rest.

He brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing off a layer of sweat that had formed, and cast his gaze on Thanos’s corpse. His eyes were open, blankly trained on the sky, and blood and water was rolling down him in droves, soundlessly dripping into the dusty ground underneath. Combined with the clear, slowly emptying holes in his arms and chest, placed in such strategic locations as to slow his death just enough to hear what Loki had wanted to say for so many years, he was nothing less than the image of weakness. It should have been more satisfying, seeing him on his knees like that with his head drawn back against a pole of ice, but as he returned to the darkened ground, he saw—

_(stone, more blood, his own blood, old stains on the unfinished surface, chains)_

—promptly looked away and replaced his hand, pressing his forefinger and thumb to opposite temples and trying so _goddamn_ desperately not to let the memories sweep away the feeling of victory, but they came anyway. He saw the chains again, thick, ancient things similar to the cuffs, probably older than he was and none the lesser for it. They were also enchanted, he noticed this time—same markings as the cuffs, maybe that was why he felt weaker here than sprawled on the floors, maybe—

He remembered the cell. They left him there at night or when no one cared enough for torture, moved him sometimes when they released him before the start of every session—once a day, perhaps. He’d never know. A couple minutes to make sure the ~~ally~~ prisoner hadn’t died, let him relieve himself, and check if it worked—

—their method, if their method worked—

 _(it did, it worked,_ ~~_they saved you_ ~~ _)_

Loki stepped back, heart pounding. He couldn't breathe right; his throat felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool. They were gone now, he tried to convince himself, he was fine, but he still remembered—not now, didn't want to—

He was dragged kicking to the chambers by his ankle, grunting in pain as the floor's jagged surface ripped the scabs from his back. The walls smelled of mildew and the only light came through cracks in the stone; the hallway felt as endless as the blood trailing behind him. When they finally reached the room, he couldn't even struggle. He was easily hauled to his feet and bound by the cuffs on his wrists to one of the chains dangling from the ceiling, and though it killed him just to try, when his tormentor lifted a toothed knife to his chest, he grinned.

“What are you smiling for?” the man hissed, flicking Loki's cheek with the blade.

“You won't win,” he said with a wince. “None of you will.”

_(still needs fixing, the poison's still there, they'll get it out they'll—)_

No no no, not this, not this; Loki knew what followed this memory. He sat down and tried blocking it out, tried—

The man gripped him by the shoulder and held his chest taut while he dug the knife through his muscles. Loki sucked in a breath and tried not to scream as he jerked the blade up, peeling a layer of skin; fresh sweat leaked into the wound and he twitched, tightened his hands around the chains.

“Remember your purpose,” the man said, anger and concern melding together in some distant, hazy way that felt wrong, impossible. Loki faced him again, teary-eyed as he repeated,

_(purpose, glorious purpose, you're more than this, if only you'd join—)_

“No,” he whispered, dizzily shaking his head. “I'm not. I'm not, let me go. You're wasting your time. You can't fix me. You can't win.”

The man dropped the knife and tore the skin loose, leaving a hot, bleeding mark down his pec. Loki screamed this time and tipped nearly over nearly to fainting, wished he would have—and then the pain turned into another violent, throbbing ache, and he closed his eyes and caught his breath. His lungs burned.

“You won't win,” he said again, forcing a bleak chuckle. He could taste salt in his mouth along the coppery sting of blood.

“They ruined you,” the man drawled. The knife at his fingers twirled in warning. “They poisoned your mind, Loki. It's all lies. We're—”

 _(only trying to help,_ ~~_no they're not they're not they just want you to join_ ~~ _)_

Loki shook his head and shakily responded, “Let me go. You're getting nowhere.”

 _(_ ~~_selfish little cunt_ ~~ _)_

The knife went into his shoulder and he grunted. The blade was intentionally dulled and might've even been treated with something to enhance the bite. He didn't know, and he didn't care. He kept laughing. He laughed until he cried. They'd give up eventually.

The image flickered.

Voices echoed around him, drawn dimly back into focus. Someone was calling his name. His chest still ached, felt like it was going to cave in any moment. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, but the thoughts lingered; memories of the Bifröst rang through his mind, of a flourishing city brought to rubble at his hands, of a lifeless planet filled with his enemies—oh, Norns, no—

Then he felt arms around him, real arms, and the same voice—

“Loki!”

“Don't touch me!” he shrieked, scrambling backwards.

The grip moved to his shoulders. “Stop.”

“No! No, leave me alone.”

“I won't hurt you, Loki. Look at me. Deep breaths.”

He forced himself to face the other person, struggling to piece together his identity; he knew him well, but he couldn't remember the name or where from—probably an enemy, it was always an enemy. The knife's edge still ghosted at his skin, like an itch that needed to be scratched. It was all he could think about. He shook his head feverishly and tried to escape his grasp.

“I'm an ally. We're allies now, Loki. I won't hurt you,” the man said again, pulling him into a full-body embrace; he didn't fight back this time. “You're not there anymore. Breathe, Loki. Look around. You're safe.”

“Thor,” Loki sobbed, looking away. “I need to see him. He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead too. When he—oh, no. No. I did this to him. I did this to him, gods, I—”

“He's fine. He's fine, remember? There was a mix-up. Thor's alive. Don't worry. Don't worry, Loki. Just breathe. Deep breaths.”

“No, please. Let me go. Let me go. _Please._ ”

“I'll take you to your brother, but I need you to calm down first. You’re hyperventilating. Look at me—no, look at me, Loki. You're safe now. Now deep breaths, I'm gonna count. I want you to inhale for one, two, three, exhale for one, two, three. Come on, can you do that for me?”

Loki did as he was told, taking slow, shuddery breaths. He leaned into the man's arms and let him keep quietly counting aloud for him. Inhale, exhale. He didn't know how many times the numbers were repeated before the fear began to fade and the memories cleared from his vision. The name broke a moment later and he stared, lost for words. “Of course,” he muttered. “Tony Stark. Of _course._ As if this wasn't humiliating enough.”

Tony sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Is Thanos dead?” Loki hissed, tightening his grip on him.

“Yeah. Yeah, he's dead. He's not”—Tony breathed in—“he's not coming back.”

“He's dead,” Loki mirrored. The tears returned to his eyes and he spat a foreign swear under his breath. Tony frowned.

“Cry it out,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't care. Cry it out, Loki. Don't worry about me.”

There was no anger, no old grudges—just warm, plain sympathy. Then Loki sat up properly and growled, “Get your hands off me,” and the look in Tony’s eyes shot to a very real and barely hidden terror, and he jerked away and stared, motionless, waiting for the situation to take a turn for the worse. After a moment, however, Loki only sighed and said, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tony managed.

“And… sorry.”

“Wait—what? Why?”

“For that. And this,” Loki added, lifting his gaze towards the crowd of startled heroes. “They know. Look at how they're looking at me. I'm not welcome.”

“Whoa, wait a second, hold on.”

“No,” he continued, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. He brushed the loose dirt from his cape and gave Tony an emotionless, half-second smile. “I'm leaving. There's a planet I rather liked, and I know some people who can take me there.”

“Okay, listen to me,” Tony hissed, turning him around to face him. “Shut up and listen. You just saved half the universe, you realize that? I don't give a shit what you did before that. I can't, not right now. That'd be fucked up. You're not moving until you understand that.”

Loki shot him a toxic look. “Fine,” he deadpanned, “do you have any chairs?”

“Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. Are you usually like this? Is this what Thor has to deal with?”

“You still haven't told me where he is!”

“I'm here.”

Loki froze, then whipped his head around. Thor stood in front of a portal forged by Strange, from which a small handful of people he did and didn't recognize also walked out. They bore tired, bloodied looks, and he reasoned that they'd fought Thanos's allies. Fought and won. They wouldn't still be alive if they hadn't.

Thor carried an unfamiliar weapon with him, which he fastened to his back before slowly closing the distance between them. Tony stepped away.

“Brother,” Loki said, slackening a little. “Will you forgive me?”

“Always.”

“I had to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Thor. I was scared. I needed to hide.”

“I forgive you, Loki.”

“I promised. I said I'd be back. I told you—”

“I know. I never stopped believing.” Thor forced a smile. “Not entirely.”

Loki teared up again and promptly stumbled into his arms with a weak grunt. Just the attack on the Statesman had left him exhausted, and holding a solid illusion for so long, and forcing a warp. And using magic that had barely just recovered to kill Thanos—he didn't know how he was still standing.

“I'm alright,” he muttered when he saw Thor's expression.

Thor gave another smile and brought an arm around them; Loki glared, but didn't pull away. “You need rest.”

“Rest? Where do I rest? There's nowhere left! There's—”

“The Avengers will take you in,” Thor calmly interrupted, and Loki gaped, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

“They will _not,_ ” he said, a hard certainty to his voice. “They—” He shook his head and lifted his gaze to the crowd, wavering only at Tony, who was still standing awkwardly off to the side and in full sight of their discussion. His desperate attempts to calm him still rang in his thoughts. “They will not,” Loki repeated, turning away with a huff. “They'll lock me away and that'll be the end of it. Don't be stupid.”

Thor frowned and glanced at Tony. “Not after this,” he said, addressing him just as much as Loki. “They can't.”

Tony tipped his head in a kind of ambivalent agreement. He breathed in and considered their options, considered everything that had just happened, then simply offered, “Truce?”

Some of the Avengers protested, but most stayed silent. At least one of them nodded, which Loki caught in his periphery with a curious half-smile. And then—

He stumbled again, his body suddenly too hot, too heavy, and found himself grabbing Thor's shoulder. “Shit _,_ ” he hissed, staring past him. The sand brightened and he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, trying and failing to ignore the growing static over his senses. No, he wasn't that tired; he couldn't be. He wasn't that tired. He wasn't—

“Loki,” Thor hesitantly began, securing his other arm to his waist. “Do you need to—”

Lie down.

Lie down, probably.

He didn't hear the rest before the dizziness overtook him and the world cut.

⸎

Thor still had a firm hold on him when he fell and managed to keep him up, wincing a little at the weight. He waited a few seconds, hoping Loki would wake, but he remained limp. Only his steady breathing betrayed any sign of life.

“Adrenaline crash,” Tony noted, giving a tight, pained smile. “Must have really been exhausted, huh?”

Thor's response was a one-armed shrug and the same forced expression. He didn't bother speaking.

Behind them, Thanos was still tethered to the ground, hazily watching the sky. The ice had begun to blacken the surrounding areas in wide, mottled swathes, slower than if Loki would have touched him outright, but a blackening nonetheless. When it finally melted, half of him would already be rotted, and the other half wouldn't take long to follow.

It was almost poetic, leaving him here like this. They wouldn't be there to see the very end, but the thought was enough. Thanos would decay here, alone, on his home planet, as a testament to… well, too many things to count. His cruelty was at the top; a death like this was only fitting, then. Even if it wasn't the torture that Loki had clearly wanted—and simply hadn't bothered with—it was still a worthy enough demise for someone like him. Someday, his withered skeleton might even be found, and the story might have spread far enough by then that people would know that the universe punished those who went against it, those who hurt for their own gain—sooner or later, the universe won. Sometimes, all it needed was a little push from a thoroughly pissed off minor god.

“What was that back there?” Peter asked, frowning up at Tony.

“Short answer? Flashback. I don't even know if I… handled it right. It worked, I guess, but—”

“He didn't want you to touch him.”

“Yeah.”

“It was my fault.”

Tony shook his head. “He was already close back there. I doubt it would have made a difference.”

“He'll be fine,” Thor said, and they turned to face him. He hoisted Loki up bridal-style and walked back to the crowd, away from the battle's grim finale. “You will not hurt my brother.” His voice had a rare, no-nonsense acidity to it, one that didn't soften as he continued, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Tony quickly answered. He wouldn't wait up on the rest of them.

With that, they made their way to the still-standing portal. Thor and Loki were first, followed by Tony, Peter, those who had fought in Wakanda, and—reluctantly—the mistaken ambushers, who probably had better places to be and couldn't really bring themselves to trust the Avengers, but joined them anyway. Last of all was Strange, who took a moment to send the gauntlet to a safe storage and then walked after them, closing the portal behind him.

No one looked back.

 


	12. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's crimes are mentioned. Discomfort ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry this took so long and isn't even that good mental health is a Bitch
> 
> good news though, while struggling to tie this chapter together I managed to get several of the later chapters done, so the next ones will Definitely not take this long

Loki snapped awake to a white ceiling. His mouth was dry and his head was throbbing, and for a very long several seconds, he didn't understand where he was. The last place he'd slept was the ship, and then—

White ceiling.

Panic surged through him and he jolted upright, only to see a regular, medium-sized room. No bars, no barriers—just a room. A _bedroom,_ and a relatively nice one at that. He looked down at himself, searching for cuffs, wards, anything, but found nothing. In fact, he was as untouched as could be; he was still wearing his armour right down to the boots and cape, and faded blood lined the grooves of his fingers. He'd simply been lain there atop the covers and left to sleep.

Nothing on him, nothing around the room. He double-checked, saw no apparent danger, and then forced himself to relax, choking his fear down like it was a bad aftertaste. No danger; Thor had promised.

(Well, he lied sometimes. Never mind that.)

The room was sparsely decorated and open in its design. To his right was a kitchenette with a round dining table and two chairs, a bathroom, and a presumably empty dresser by the latter's door. To his left was a small nightstand and the door to leave, which faced the same direction as the bed, and a couch nestled in the far corner. The wall directly opposite him was mostly window and, by his awful luck, kept shooting beams of light into his face between bouts of clouds. He probably wouldn’t have minded some other day—hell, he usually preferred natural light—but it didn't agree with his head whatsoever, so he quickly looked away.

The second look at the nightstand revealed a handwritten note that read, _Breakfast in the lounge! T.S._ Loki wasn't especially hungry, nor did he feel comfortable joining them. After a few seconds, though, he turned and crawled off the bed, deciding he might as well. He warped the plates and cape into storage and then headed into the bathroom, where he promptly faced his reflection.

What he saw wasn't nearly as awful as expected, but the hair he’d slept on creased at an awkward angle, and he had specks of dried blood on his cheek. A new scar also made its home above his eyebrow. He glanced at the sink, at the taps, then picked the blood off with a fingernail. His hair might have gone easier if he dampened it, but he didn't bother with that, either. He formed a comb and drew the locks back with a little more effort than usual, tucking them neatly behind his ears and taking an extra minute or so to make sure the tangles were out. There were still some stray curls and flyaways when he set the comb down, but there was nothing to be done about them. Natural hair supposedly suited him, anyway.

Loki left the room with some hesitation and headed down the hall, which was wide and full of other doors, and well-lit by the many windows that dotted the building. Its walls eventually opened to a sprawling area with its own tables and couches and yes, its own kitchen. Several Avengers had already settled in, as had some of the strangers from Titan. Thor was among them.

No one noticed him, it seemed. He crept in like a sour, magic-hungover cat and sat in one of the couches, next to Thor. “Good morning,” he tried.

Thor looked up. “Good morning,” he said after a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. What are we having?”

“Eggs, sausages, and waffles courtesy of Cap,” Tony answered through mouthfuls of the latter. “Highly recommended.”

“Ah—I can't have wheat,” Loki said, glancing towards him. “But thank you.”

He chanced a small grin and said, “More for me, then.”

It was a thoroughly unconvincing gesture on Tony’s part; his eyes carried that glossy, pre-panic attack look, and the rest of him came off similarly high-strung. Nothing surprising. Nothing, Loki also decided, he was especially keen on discussing, so he tentatively returned the grin and then leaned in to grab a plate and cutlery from the coffee table. He piled on a few sausages—Thor had already claimed the majority of those, but he didn't mind too much—and got to work slicing them into bites.

Tony picked at his food a moment, glanced around at the others sitting by him, and then sighed and dropped his fork. “Thor says you’re good now?”

“That’s a very broad statement,” Loki responded.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Well, I’m not trying to take over planets anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m just as good as everyone else in this room—that is, I’m not the best I could be, but I wouldn’t call myself a villain. So yes, Stark”—he smiled—“I’m good now.”

“You've killed civilians,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “How do we know it won't happen again?”

“The weapons you once manufactured killed thousands of civilians daily. You didn't bat an eye for the longest, yet the people here now know you as a hero. Do you see my point? What's in the past is in the past.”

Loki started on his food while waiting for a response. Several moments passed before Thor spoke up.

“I have to agree with my brother,” he said. “Loki's done more than enough over the years to prove himself.”

“He’s a war criminal!” Steve hissed from the kitchen.

“So are you,” Tony shot. “They never did follow up on that, did they?”

Steve went silent. Loki stared at him, briefly amused, surprised, then glanced at Tony; he returned the glance with a shrug and a look that told him it would take hours to explain what was going on. Loki sighed.

“He’s acquitted,” Thor suddenly said.

“You can’t do that!” Steve cried.

“I think he can,” Tony said, frowning. “He’s a king. He’s got all the authority.”

Steve raised a less-than-pleased eyebrow. “Loki’s acquitted. Alright. In Asgard, maybe; that means nothing here.”

“Can't it?”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know.” Tony shrugged again. “I read something somewhere once.”

“So you’re clueless.”

“You’re just as clueless as I am, sweetheart. Why don’t you get a lawyer in here so we can actually get something done?”

Steve stared in stunned silence. He looked at the bowl of half-finished batter, then set the ingredients down and walked out without a word. Loki watched him disappear down the hall, a wry, unconscious smile on his face. Tony did much the same.

“I think you offended him,” Loki said.

“Yeah, I know.” Tony glanced at the bowl. “Rest in peace, waffle mix. This morning to this morning.”

Loki snickered. He ate the last bit of sausage and then said, “I never asked if anyone needs healing.”

Tony absentmindedly scanned the room. “I think we’re good.”

“What about”—he hesitated—“Peter? That is his name, right?”

“Yeah. He stayed the night. He’s pretty shaken up after seeing, uh, what you did to Thanos. I'd give him some space.”

“I can help him.”

“ _Help_ him? How? It's your fault he's like this in the first place,” he snapped.

“Trust me.”

“Trust you,” Tony repeated, staring at his empty plate with a tight frown. He glanced at Thor, who only nodded, as if to confirm Loki's remark, then sighed and said, “Okay. Just—be careful. Don't do anything stupid.”

“I'm many things, Stark, but I'm not one to willingly hurt a child,” Loki said, standing up. “Where is his room?”

“Third door on the left. Loki, I'm serious, if you do _anything_ —”

“You'll kill me.” He smiled. “I know.”

Tony didn't respond. Loki headed back down the hall, eyeing the doors he passed and stopping at the third one. He gave several quick knocks and waited a couple seconds for an answer. None came.

“Peter?” he cautiously asked. “May I come in?”

Peter muttered what sounded like an affirmative; his voice was muffled by a pillow. Loki frowned and slowly opened the door. He walked in on him lying face-down in bed, sheets crumpled around his feet and headphones over one ear. Peter glanced up, gave an awkward smile.

“Hi, Mr. Loki.”

“Just Loki, please.” He sat next to him on the bed. “Stark says you haven't been feeling too well.”

“What? No, I'm fine,” he said, sitting up.

“Hiding truths from a god of lies is very difficult, Peter.”

His eyes widened and he looked away, biting his lip. Loki quietly waited for him to speak.

“I've never really seen anyone die,” he admitted, frowning. “Especially not like that.”

“I figured. You're quite young, and Midgardians don't generally fight as much as we do to begin with. I… got carried away yesterday,” he said, closing his eyes. “It was something I needed to do. I'm sorry you had to see.”

“It's okay.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I know it affected you. I came to ask if you'll allow me to help.”

“Help?”

“I'll erase your memories of the battle. But I have to find them first, so I'll need permission. Not everyone appreciates people digging around in their mind.”

“Oh—yeah, of course! Go for it, Loki.”

He smiled bitterly and pressed his hand to Peter's forehead. Loki's eyes lit up bright green as he searched through the most recent entries; first the two of them on the bed, and then Peter waking up, and then following Strange's portal to the Avengers base. He went back further, finding where the gauntlet was removed and where Peter last gazed upon Thanos's corpse. With a weak surge of magic, he wiped the data, such that it seemed Peter had been looking away the entire time Loki fought Thanos.

He recalled the energy and removed his hand.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Um…” Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Nothing, wow. Thanks a ton.”

“Don't thank me.”

Loki stood up and left the room; Peter followed. They headed back to the lounge, where everyone was happily wrapped up in food and conversation, except for Tony. He glanced at Loki, and then at Peter, who he ran up to and feverishly looked up and down for visible marks. His brows scrunched when he couldn't find anything.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I made him forget what he saw.”

“You made him—you can do that?”

“Simple memories, yes. Those that get left too long branch out too much to be dealt with easily.”

A faint disappointment crossed Tony's face, and Loki gave a weak, dry smile as he realized they'd been thinking the same thing. He wondered if Peter had considered it as well. Looking over showed him focused only on scrounging for remaining waffles, but he couldn’t sense malice. More likely, it was just distraction. He sighed and returned to where Thor was still sitting.

“I met some Asgardians yesterday,” he said, leaning in. “They told me they’ve been separated but landed on the same continent. It shouldn’t be too hard to find them. Especially with the Avengers on your side,” he added after a second.

“Oh—that reminds me. You should join.”

“Join what?”

“The Avengers.”

Loki choked, said, “You’ve gone mad.”

“Have I?” He smiled weakly. “No. I want you back at my side again. Fights just aren’t the same without you, brother.”

Loki was utterly silent for a good minute. The words simply wouldn’t come. At the end of the minute, he sighed and gave a smile of his own.

“I’ll think about it," he said.

Then he turned and left.

 


	13. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony begrudgingly agree to work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all you wonderful dorks I love you have some flashbacks and a nice civilized frostiron conversation

 

Loki didn't know what changed, or when. The moment he first gave in was a blank, but he knew it came quick. One second, he was stubborn as always, vehemently turning down each word shot his way, and the next—

“You're right,” he said, quietly, gratingly. He coughed and continued, “Let me rest. Please.”

The pain didn't stop; the fire in his body continued long after the knife was pulled away from his skin. He began to sob, staring blurry-eyed at the pools of blood on the floor. His lungs burned. He couldn't breathe.

“You're right,” Loki said again, childish desperation in his voice. “You're right. Just let me rest awhile.”

They did, but it didn't take long for them to pick up again. His answer then was a fluke, something he'd said in the moment to stave away the hurt. He didn't truly believe it. It was hard to lie about something like that. They'd notice.

A siren somewhere shook the image. Loki sighed.

He was sitting on the roof of a large building not far from the Avengers' base, gazing blankly at the traffic below. A blank sheet of paper rested in one hand, and in the other, a black quill pen; a layer of magic underneath allowed him to write without a solid surface. Nothing here should be reminding him—still, the thoughts lingered. He pictured fields, music, tried to fight the memory, but it came regardless. This was long after the previous one; how long, he didn't remember. It didn't matter.

“Give me an army,” Loki said.

Thanos chuckled, a low, mocking sound. He eyed Loki's broken form, knelt in front of the chains that still bore his sweat and blood, and smiled. “Of course. You're strong” _—(strong yes)—_ “but even you can't take them on your own. We'll give you a weapon, too.”

_(kill him with it kill him kill him)_

Loki smiled back. His lips were chapped; he felt a bloody crack form along the bottom. “That'll be useful,” he quietly replied, licking the drop away. “Thank you.”

“What are you planning, Silvertongue?”

He stared a moment, startled. “I'm not planning anything. I'll help you. But I suppose I could—while I'm down there, I want to make my family pay.”

“Your family,” Thanos repeated, nodding. “Of course. They hurt you. It's only right.”

Loki didn't react. “Revenge. You understand. It's no extra trouble; I might just take a little longer.”

“Take all the time you need. But remember—”

_(they'll punish you if you fuck up, of course, mistakes have consequences it's okay it's)_

The pen fell into his lap with a soft thud, and he sighed and picked it up. The paper was still blank. He stared at it for a few moments, taking the time to recollect himself, before slowly and uncertainly beginning his message.

> Stark ,
> 
> Unless he's told you already, I thought you should know that Thor wants me to join the Avengers. We can probably agree that my powers would be of great use, but I know that Earth has some very strong feeling s about me and I doubt it's a good idea. I’ll say it now: I never wanted what happened in New York.

_(liar)_

Loki gripped the pen harder. No, he enjoyed the attention, but he wasn't so addled in the mind that he'd actually wanted all that death and destruction. Still—

_(you didn't hesitate)_

He frowned and continued writing.

> That year destroyed me and it was your people who suffered for it. I could write forever and it still wouldn't amount to how sorry I am, so I'll leave it there. Hopefully you'll accept it.
> 
> This particular letter is enchanted; respond in the space I’ve left below and then push it aside. It will find its way to me.
> 
> Kindest regards,
> 
> Loki

He took an extra several seconds to add the mentioned spell, then sent the pen and paper away with a wave of his hand and stood up, glancing over the building's edge as he did. It wasn't a very tall building, but the view was still ~~tempting~~ dizzying. He slowly turned and headed down the fire escape, switching into invisibility just before he was within the citizens' view and quietly continuing on his way. He found a bench and waited there for a reply.

Ten minutes after sending the letter away, it reappeared in front of him with a shimmer of green and floated into his lap. He picked it up and began to read.

> Loki,
> 
> I don't trust you. Even after what you did for us, I don't think I'll be able to trust you again for a long time. That said, you seem alright. Come by HQ and we'll talk.
> 
> T.S.

Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If Tony wanted him dead, he would have done so on Titan; he wasn't so dumb that he would wait for him to regain his strength first. This was a peaceful meeting, nothing more, nothing less. He kept that in mind as he vanished the letter, stood up, and started walking back.

He found the main doors and, when he noticed they were locked, positioned himself in front of the cameras and quietly waited for them to pick up his presence. He fiddled with his hands and peeked through the windows every now and then. Eventually, the intercom switched on.

“Stark wanted to see me.”

“I really doubt it,” came Steve's voice.

“This is his handwriting.” He summoned the letter and held it up to the camera. “Or ask him if you don't believe me.”

A few seconds went by in silence. Past twenty, Loki wondered if he'd actually gone to confirm his claim. It was almost exactly a minute later that the faint sound of clicking locks echoed from the doors, and he let out a relieved sigh. The letter vanished in his hand and he entered the building.

The lobby was entirely empty, save for Tony, who was leaned against the wall across from him. He lifted his hand in a lazy wave, which Loki returned.

“An Avenger, huh?” Tony said with a slight grin.

“Thor's idea, not mine.”

Tony shrugged and made his way to the lounge. Loki followed. He sat in one of the couches, leaned back, and quietly watched the clouds outside while Tony returned to a brewing pot of coffee.

“Where is everyone?” Loki asked, not turning.

“Out. Most of them went to help with Thor's search-and-rescue mission. Speaking of which—shouldn't you be with him too? They're your people, after all.”

He frowned. “Maybe so. I'm just... still a little tired.”

“Yeah, yesterday must've been rough. Thor told me some of it. I just didn't understand, uh—” His brows furrowed slightly. “How'd you all end up on a ship?”

“Ragnarök,” Loki answered, calm as if he'd rehearsed it. “It's a long story. We lost Asgard and that ship was a temporary solution.”

“And then you faked your death.”

“I did. That's why”—he cleared his throat—“that's why I apologized on Titan. It wasn't the first time, but it was... one of the more graphic cases. It took a lot out of me. I can’t remember the last time I exhausted my magic like that.”

“But you’re healing pretty well,” Tony noted, glancing towards him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, for sure. I should be fine by tomorrow.”

“That’s good. How do you take your coffee?”

“Copious amounts of sugar and no dairy. Or if you have any substitutes,” he added after a moment, “a few splashes is fine.”

“No dairy _or_ wheat?” he said, rummaging through the fridge for a carton of sweetened almond milk. “That doesn't sound fun.”

“My ancestors never really ate either, so I suppose we never developed a tolerance.”

“Is it all wheat or just the gluten?” Tony asked, unscrewing the cap and pouring a small measure into one of the mugs.

“Probably the gluten. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Tony returned the milk to the fridge and made his way to where Loki was sitting. He handed him his coffee and sat across from him.

“So here's my take,” he began. “What you did—what was it?—five, six years ago royally fucked me up and continues to affect me today, but I owe you for yesterday. We all do. So I'm willing to give you a chance. _One_ chance,” he added, holding a finger up.

“That's reasonable.”

“Sure, but is it something I can trust you with?”

“I can never really be trusted,” Loki said with a cheeky smile; Tony glared. “But I'll make a promise, and I don't generally go back on those.”

“Uh-huh.”

Loki smiled again and started on his coffee. He pretended not to notice Tony watching him over his own mug, eyes rather indiscreetly locked on his face. Maybe he was observing the changes; last they saw each other, Loki was sickly. He was half a shade past his normal pallor and his hair hadn’t been washed nearly since Thanos found him, not to mention he was still struggling to accustom to the new length. He hadn’t slept decently in months and spent the whole time in a haze, though maybe that part wasn’t as obvious behind the constant snark. Thor would’ve, should’ve said something. But he didn’t. He didn’t even seem worried.

“You look better,” Tony said—so he did notice after all, Loki thought with a chuckle.

“Better than yesterday, or better than”—he cleared his throat—“New York?”

“New York.”

“Well, I certainly _feel_ better. Those days were...” Loki trailed off with a slight shudder. “Do you still think about it?”

“Not as much as I used to. It was pretty bad for a while.”

“You know I’d help you if I could,” he said, brows dropping a little.

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, I would. I’m not a bad person, Stark. I live for myself first and foremost and it’s led me to do bad _things,_ but I’m not a bad person. Thor can tell you that.”

Tony frowned and took another few sips of his coffee.

“Do you even want to be an Avenger?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted with a tilt of the head. “But I've got nothing better to do, and I don't need Thor moping all day, so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Tony mirrored, vaguely gesturing towards him. “You know, my biggest concern right now isn't if I can trust you. For the record, I still don't, but anyway, my biggest concern is how the public will react. Wait—that sounds super pretentious, sorry.”

“No, I understand.”

“Right, so I just don't know what people will think if the Avengers suddenly get you on the team. I mean, Earth doesn't exactly have the best memories of you.”

“Memories don't change. Impressions do. And if it doesn't work out—like I said earlier, there's a planet I found on my way here I rather liked. I can find it again if it comes to that.”

“Well, jeez. I don't want to just kick you out. Thor would skin me alive.”

“Oh, he wouldn't do that,” Loki said with a grin, “but he might throw a few punches. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure.”

Tony hesitated, finished off his coffee in one go before asking, “Is this what you're usually like?”

“What do you mean?”

“You're... calm. Making jokes. Not trying to kill anyone,” he added after a moment.

“You say that like it's my pastime.”

“It's not?” Tony said with a snort.

Loki gave a long, honest laugh. “No, it's not.”

“Then what is?”

“You're asking what I do in my free time? Why, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're flirting with me.”

“What—no!” he stammered, face red. “Loki, you _ass_. You led me into that!”

Loki doubled over in his seat, nearly crying with glee. The empty mug toppled from his hand and he caught it at the last second with a cushioning spell, and he set it aside and continued laughing for a good several seconds before finally recollecting himself. Tony only glared.

“God of mischief,” Loki reminded with a smile.

“Right.” Tony sighed. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm gonna go help some stranded Asgardians. You coming with?”

“Might as well.”

“No one’s looked here yet,” Tony said, summoning his armour. “I’ll be around the city. Stay close, will you? I don’t want riots.”

Loki shrugged and stood up. They left the room together and exited through the main entrance. The doors locked behind them and Tony quickly took to the air, while Loki trailed behind him at ground level with loose, mid-range teleportations. The warps came easy. They were smooth, well-formed, less draining than they were yesterday—the weary lack of focus had called for greater effort.

It took half a minute to reach the city limits; they stopped at the first major street and began searching.


	14. They're Still Accustoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Civil interaction between two people who hate each other turns out to be somewhat difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone I am a dirty goblin who spent their time playing maplestory 2 instead of working through their writer's block :)

“Do you have the count yet?”

“Nope,” Tony answered, stuffing his phone in his jacket.

They were both leaned roughly ten feet apart against the wall of a nondescript store, watching passersby and struggling to come up with a way to separate the needles from the hay. Loki frowned and sent a fresh burst of magic through his eyes in a weak attempt to locate an Æsir signature; his irises glowed green as he glossed over the crowds. The spell revealed faint, meandering trails of energy, but nothing strong enough to be traced. He sighed.

“This is terribly inefficient.”

“You don’t say,” Tony muttered, glancing at him from behind a pair of rosy sunglasses. “Do you have a better idea?”

Loki shrugged and warped onto the roof, but the view wasn't much of an improvement. He clambered up the pitch and craned his neck, quietly watching for outliers in any, all directions. He spent a good minute perched on the edge before he sighed again and reappeared next to Tony, who jumped and gave a scowl.

“I do have _one_ idea, but I doubt it'll work,” Loki admitted.

“Try me.”

“I was going to ask if you could search from the air,” he began, fiddling with his hands a moment. “But you can't tell humans and Æsir apart at first glance, can you?”

“Uh... no? Am I supposed to?”

“Oh, no. Even I have some difficulty.” Loki shrugged. “Anyway—if I described the differences to you, could you come up with a way to separate them from a crowd?”

“I mean, FRIDAY _might_ be able to pull off something that, but not without new stuff. Even she’s not that sensitive.”

“Oh? So then what if”—he raised a finger—“what if you work on just the separation part and then I use my magic to fill the criteria? I’ve worked with machines before. It should be possible.”

“That sounds stupid, way too complicated, and also I don't trust you around my things.”

“What's so complicated about it?” he asked, brows furrowing a little.

“The fact that I've never dealt with your magic and have no idea how to fit it into my technology, and did you miss the part where I don't trust you around my things? The answer's no.”

“Ah, then I suppose we'll just spend the next century here. That doesn't sound too bad. Maybe you can rent me a brothel while we're at it,” he suggested with a grin.

“A _what?!_ ” Tony barked, whipping around to face Loki.

“I have needs, Stark.”

“Nope, don't want to hear it. Hey, that guy looks kinda out of it,” he said, pointing to the first person in his line of sight—a raggedy man hunched outside an alley. “Asgardian?”

“Homeless. And very human,” Loki added after a moment. He pursed his lips and asked, “Are you sure you don't want to try my plan?”

“Hundred percent.”

By then it was obvious they'd both decided to forget yesterday's events, which Loki admittedly didn't appreciate as much as he wanted to. He wasn't being patronized, but he wasn't being trusted, either, because take away those episodes and he was dangerous as ever—which he was, but that wasn't the point. The point was that while he was dealing with the memories again, he probably couldn't properly harm someone if he wanted to, lest he be reduced to a bawling mess on the ground. Not trusting someone in that state was just cruel.

He didn't say that, obviously, because at the end of the day, he still preferred being distrusted to being patronized. Instead, he sighed and raised a hand, forming a signalling spell in his palm. He spent a moment adjusting its recipients to those whose energies matched Æsir patterns, and another describing aloud his location and the plan to reunite Asgard. A flick of the wrist sent the message across the city; Tony rolled his eyes.

“You couldn't have done that earlier?” he asked, glancing over at him.

“Sure,” Loki replied, “but I needed to get a feel for the people here first. It's not especially easy picking out targets in a place like this.”

“You can't skip that part?”

“Have you seen the way humans react to magic?” Loki said with a snort. “Really, Stark, my voice suddenly appearing in every head in the city? I'm not looking to cause mass hysteria.”

“No? Sure seems like something you’d do.”

Loki made a face and turned his attention back to the streets. He kept his mind open in the odd case that someone decided to respond, but all he could hear for the next minute was the roar of traffic and at least a dozen people successfully asking Tony for an autograph; he tried to ignore the latter.

“You know what I could try,” Loki began, “is lend my magic to your vision, and then you wouldn’t need any modifications to your suit. Not that you would let me. But I _could_ do that.”

“Yeah, you're right. I'm not gonna let you.”

“So you’re just going to keep standing here and harassing vagrants, are you?” He leered. “Solid plan, Stark. You’re bound to find something.”

“What’s wrong with using your own eyes?” Tony asked, glancing at him with a twitch of the brows.

“Nothing. I just tried that, but there's no point. It's too crowded to see very far. I'd have to cross the entire city for any results.”

“Sucks.”

“Does this really mean so little to you?”

“What? No. No, I want to find them, don't get me wrong. But...”

“I gave you ideas. Are you even listening?”

“Loki—” He broke off with a bitter sigh. “Loki, look, I said it before: I don't trust you. It's shitty and I'm sorry, because honestly? You seem like a really cool guy. I'm trying, I am. It's just taking a while.”

“Of course it is,” Loki said, chuckling. “I don't blame you.”

“Thanks. So I just... I don't know. Bear with me, um, what if we get Thor and he just makes sure you don't do anything weird?”

“Like what? Turn you into a frog?”

“Yeah, that counts as pretty weird. But we can do that, right? I'll probably be okay with it then. Whatever you want to do.”

“That's... fine.” He shook his head a little. “Actually, it's tremendously degrading that you still trust me so little that you need my brother to supervise, but like I said—I don't blame you.”

The cars kept zipping past them, undisturbed by the two landmarks along the sidewalk. Loki wondered for a moment what Tony was thinking; he swore he saw pity in his eyes, felt it a little through his own empathy, but he pushed the idea away. He didn't want his _pity._ It was awful enough that he'd seen him when—

Loki took a deep breath.

“So we head back, is that it?” Tony said.

“I'm down.”

Tony sighed and drew his suit.

 


	15. Compromises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony head back to the compound to discuss the former's plan with Thor.

Tony and Loki were seated in the compound foyer, quietly waiting for Thor to rejoin them.

Reaching him wasn't the easiest thing with his lack of a phone—it involved calling someone else, who called someone else, who called someone else, and on and on—but once they made contact, he arrived at an impressive speed.

They headed to the lounge and shared their progress (Thor hadn't found anyone either, he said with a frown) and Loki's plan along the way. It took ten minutes and a joint effort from Thor and Loki—and Peter, who happened to be getting a snack and decided to offer his support—to convince Tony to allow Loki into his lab. Tony's agreement was hesitant and heavy on begrudging, but he kept his snark within a reasonable level. Mostly because he didn't want to upset Peter, who was developing a growing fondness for the trickster and wouldn't be too happy if he heard.

“I can't believe you're okay with this,” Tony said to Thor.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Tony opened his mouth, awkwardly snapped it shut and chewed his lip a moment, before giving a resigned sigh.

“He's... uh... Loki,” he said flatly.

“Yes, that's his name.”

The aforementioned coughed a laugh and said, “Jokes aside—I don't have much to gain from anything of, um, ill intent. All it'll do is delay the rescues.”

“Fair enough.” Tony glanced at the device on his chest. “So how is this gonna work?”

Loki shrugged and placed a glowing hand over it, closing his eyes as he scanned its inner workings. He brought an intricate maze of wires to the fore of his mind and slowly wandered its halls; he didn't have an idea what he was looking for, but he'd know when he found something of use. He dug deeper, deeper—something caught his eye and he zoomed in, realized with a slight grin he'd located the visual circuits. He sent a burst of magic into the scanning mechanism, creating a new preset and filling it with the criteria he'd promised before opening his eyes and removing his hand.

“That _should_ work,” Loki said, pursing his lips. “Try it out.”

“On who?”

“On us.” He rolled his eyes. “Really, Stark? I just mentioned earlier today I'm not Æsir.”

Tony sighed and summoned his suit. He gazed awkwardly at the brothers from behind the mask, activating the scanner with a few words and giving a surprised chuckle as an outline appeared around Thor. He sent the armour away a moment later.

“It works.”

Loki grinned and said, “I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony sighed. “So we're good?”

“I'd like to think so,” Loki answered. “Thor?”

“Aye.”

“Peter?”

“ _Peter?_ What the—”

Tony's sentence fell flat as he suddenly noticed him perched on the ceiling, awkwardly staring down at them over an empty bag of chips.

“Hi,” he said with a wave.

“How long have you been there?” Tony asked.

“Since… you opened the door?”

Loki shot another grin at Tony, who only glared. Peter dropped to the floor and gave a hopeful smile.

“Fine,” Tony huffed. “Watch over him, will you?”

“Me?” Loki asked, recoiling slightly.

“Yeah, you. Why? I thought you said you wouldn't hurt a kid.”

“Correct. And I quite like this one,” he added with a chuckle. “He's one of the more charming arachnids I've met.”

Peter blushed and said, "So I can go with Loki?”

“What, just you two?” Tony scrunched his face. “No.”

“It _would_ be faster to split up,” Loki said.

“ _No._ ”

“Hey Peter,” he began, turning to him. “Do you like ice cream?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“I know a place.”

Tony stared, speechless, then shook his head and said, “Are you trying to bribe me with ice cream?”

“I am, yes.” Loki smiled. “Is it working?”

He glanced at Peter, still staring expectantly at him. Glanced at Thor. Back at Loki. Another few seconds passed in silence, and then he sighed and returned the smile. “Get me some too.”

Loki grinned and high-fived Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I Have Been Waiting Since The Start Of This Story To Write Some Loki And Peter Shit :))))))))) ) )) I love my small idiot children


	16. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Peter make small talk while searching for the displaced Asgardians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a fuck of a long time. Good news, I got a ton of other stuff done in the meantime, including the next chapter. Just need to polish it a little.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Stan Lee, who passed away on this 12th of November. I was never particularly invested in Marvel until about half a year ago, but he no doubt played a large role in my life, and of course in many others'. I can only hope to create the kinds of stories he did. 
> 
> Rest in peace, Stan. I hope the great comic book store in the sky treats you well.

Peter walked out of the shop carrying a chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and a broad grin under his suit. Loki trailed behind him with several assorted pints, buried in a thick coat of ice and nestled in the crook of his elbow. He sent them into storage and gave an amused smirk at Peter's reaction.

“What are you staring at, spider?”

“Well, I’ve never seen magic outside of like, the past two days. Of course I’m gonna stare.”

Loki chuckled and said, “No magic, really?”

“None.”

“Remind me to teach you some when this is over.”

He didn't respond to Peter's ecstatic yelp, instead only continuing his trudge down the street. Peter paused to deactivate the armour on the lower half of his face and then quickly sprinted after him. They walked for a good several minutes, during which they received various looks from the people they passed—most of them seemed directed at Loki, who was just a tad more recognizable in New York than Nowhere, Canada. He savoured the attention with a cheeky smile; Peter only gave a nervous laugh and continued lapping at his ice cream.

They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

“What's the plan?” Peter asked, fiddling with his suit.

“The plan,” Loki responded with a sideways glance, “is something that Stark would be _tremendously_ disapproving of. In a nutshell”—he leaned against the metal pole—“I cast a spell on you that allows you to distinguish Æsir from humans at a glance. Just a simple vision alteration, nothing much. It'll make them stand out. Quite blatantly, actually,” he added, giving a thoughtful look. “Glowing auras and afterimages, that sort of thing.”

“Wow. Then what?”

“Oh, _then_ —that's where your tricks come in,” he said, grinning. “You're pretty good with heights, so I'm sure you'll have no problem finding a good vantage point. And I can spare a teleportation or two if needed. No worries.”

“You can _teleport?!_ ”

“I can.” Loki shrugged. “I don't often.”

The little person turned white and Loki started across the street, with Peter trailing wide-eyed behind him.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Too much effort. It's actually one of the more draining spells out there.”

“Oh.”

“So!” Loki said, propping himself up against a random wall. “Where do you want to start?”

Peter stammered something that was probably meant as an answer, but the technicalities were lost on him. Loki pursed his lips and considered a next course of action; two seconds and a sigh later, he whisked a tiny ball of magic into being between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh my God that's cool.”

Loki rolled his eyes and said, “This might feel a little odd. Hold still.”

Peter obliged and Loki pressed his fingers to his forehead, sending the energy through his eyes. Green flickered faintly beneath his mask for a few seconds before fading, and he glanced around.

“Nothing changed?”

“Keep looking. In the meantime...”

Loki waved his hand, bathing himself in a flurry of light. The light vanished several moments later to reveal an unassuming magpie where he’d been. Peter gave a startled yelp as the bird flew up and perched on his shoulder, with a cocked head and what could almost be seen as a grin spread across its beak. It motioned forward with a wing and Peter nodded sheepishly in reply.

Peter quickly finished off his ice cream before reforming his armour and taking to the rooftops. Loki fled after a few web-swings, unable to hold his grip on Peter without harming him. He followed loosely behind, glossing over the crowds every so often just in case. Occasionally he swooped down for a closer look, but the results were the same. The city was simply too large.

Peter eventually settled on the roof of one of the more scalable buildings. Loki landed next to him about a minute later, where he then returned to his default form in a flash of light, while Peter shed his headpiece. His eyes were still bright green and a dot of chocolate was smeared around the corner of his lips, much to Loki's amusement.

“Was _that_ draining?” Peter asked.

“A little. I’ve shifted often enough that it’s not as strenuous as it should be.” He paused a moment before continuing, “Did you see anything?”

“Um... I think? I’m not really sure.”

“You probably saw the afterimages I mentioned. The spell tends to reveal recent travel. Could you tell where they led?”

Peter shook his head and said, “Sorry.”

“No worries. We’ve got a fine view here,” he began, peering over the edge. “We can stay a while.”

“Oh, um—sure thing.”

He sat with his legs dangling and joined Loki in watching the streets, waiting for some sign of his people. Everyone else was there; couples, celebrities, criminals. (It took all he had not to abandon his search for the sake the latter.) But no Asgardians. It felt like the world's worst round of _Where's Waldo?_ , but he sighed and kept looking regardless.

“Loki?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Why doesn't Mr. Stark like you?”

“Oh, that's a _long_ story. It involves an invasion and me throwing him out of a window. Possibly other things.”

“You threw him out of a window?!”

“He was fine,” Loki said, waving his hand dismissively. “But it's the intention behind it. I... didn't exactly plan on him surviving.”

Peter hesitated a moment before asking, “Why?”

“He was in the way. ... Oh dear, that sounds even worse out loud.” He paused and gave a thoughtful look. “Well, I wasn’t in a very good mindset back then. It was right after, um—you know.” He gestured vaguely towards himself, and Peter nodded. “So I got sadistic. Impulsive. I took my anger out on others, because what else could I do?”

“Therapy?”

“Certainly not. They would have had my head just for _thinking_ about something irrelevant to their plan.”

“Their plan,” Peter mirrored with a frown.

“Oh, you know, the whole Infinity Stone spiel and all that. Serving their lord and saviour Thanos for the _greater good!_ ” he lilted, arms wide.

“But he’s, uh, dead now. So... yay?”

“Right you are, Peter. I'd offer a toast, but I'm afraid all the drinks I have on me would instantly kill you. Maybe soda?”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, I'm serious.” He grinned. “Asgardian liquor is notoriously strong.”

A siren somewhere stole their attention for a few moments. Loki grimaced at the feel of death in the air; Peter did as well.

“Do you miss Asgard?” he asked after a second.

“Sometimes. I like to think it’s less about the place and more about life before everything went to shit,” Loki added with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.” He tilted his head pityingly and said, “Mercy isn’t really fate’s nature.”

“Guess not.”

Loki gave a weak smile and resumed searching.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry I'll fix that awkward ending eventually


	17. Suspicious Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are growing uneasy over Loki's presence, and Loki is forced to reveal something he'd rather forget about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, what time is it? That's right! Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's ANGST TIME!

Loki and Peter returned to the compound right around dinnertime. They changed into their regular clothes—well, Loki just made it look like he did—and headed to the lounge to recoup.

There was a faint wrongness about the place, Loki noticed after a few seconds in the room. He didn't sense danger. Peter, by the looks of it, didn't sense anything either, seeming calm as ever as he made a beeline for the fridge. Loki stood, brows scrunching; he couldn't find anything, decided he was overthinking, and then slowly and uneasily sat in one of the couches. He watched with some amusement as Peter scrutinized the fridge's contents. Peter spent about a minute picking up random food, briefly examining it, and then returning it to its spot, before he sighed and closed the fridge. He repeated the process with every pantry in the room and eventually settled on a tin of salted peanuts, which he pulled from behind several bags of various grains with a triumphant whoop. Loki smiled and

_(it's too quiet)_

asked, “Are you sharing?”

“Do you want some?” Peter responded, opening the tin. “I could—I _could._ Share. But I'm starving, and I don't know when I'll be home.” His eyes widened. “I should be home. I got distracted. Oh, man.”

“It's not that late,” Loki said, waving his hand. “You're fine.”

“I mean, I guess. Aunt May thinks I'm at a friend's house. She's not wrong.”

_(it's too goddamn quiet)_

Loki's smile faltered. “I'm going to my room. Enjoy your… dinner?”

Peter mumbled a thanks around a handful of peanuts. Loki smiled again, very briefly, then got up. He considered sending a bug to search the building, keep him at a safe distance while he figured out what was setting him off so much, but by the time it occurred to him to do so, he was already out of the lounge and making quick, light-footed rounds of every nearby room. No invisibility, no dampening—probably not the best idea, now that he thought about it. He knew his presence made them restless; sneaking around unhidden wouldn't do much to help. To that extent, he tried to keep his investigation somewhat close to the dorms. If anyone asked, he was lost on the way to his room. Peter could vouch for him.

Loki ducked into a random hallway. Glancing over his shoulder, he could still partially see the lounge—Peter pacing around the kitchen, unsuccessfully juggling between the peanuts and his phone. He raised an eyebrow, then got to checking each door, pressing his ear up against each one for a few seconds at a time. He didn't know what he was looking for; his gut feelings were always so cryptic. He knew he was looking for _something._ He knew ~~they were talking about him~~ he was probably overreacting, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

_(they're talking about you talking about you talking about you)_

Loki frowned and listened to the last door. A few seconds passed in silence, and he slowly drew back, then repeated the process with the other side. Still nothing; not the second door, not the third. Nothing. Then he got to the fourth door. He was against it just long enough to hear the end of a sentence and then a sigh, Strange's voice, “He's standing by the door.”

God fucking damn this man.

“What?” Tony.

“Loki, he's—I can feel him.”

“Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. Loki! Get in here.”

Loki sighed and pushed the door open. “First of all,” he said, pointing at Strange, “rude, unnecessary, and I hate you for that.”

“Then don't eavesdrop,” Strange responded, rolling his eyes.

“How's the kid?” Tony asked.

“Fine. He's”—Loki peered down the hall—“eating peanuts on the countertop.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he's crouched on the edge,” he said, glancing briefly at Tony. “It's rather adorable, actually.”

“Tell him to get off.”

Loki gave another sigh and stepped entirely behind the door. “Peter!” he called.

“Yeah?”

“Get off the counter.”

“Why?”

“Stark said so.”

He promptly leapt onto the floor and yelled, “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” Tony yelled in response.

Loki stepped back in front of the door. It was a regular conference room, with one large table and a window across from him, and a little under a dozen people seated; among them he recognized Tony, Steve, Strange, Natasha, Bruce, and Thor, the last of whom glanced—apologetically?—at him. No one spoke. They stared like deer in headlights.

Loki wondered if he was opening Pandora’s box. He pressed his hands firmly together and said, “So this is about me, then.”

“No,” Tony quickly responded, shaking his head. “Just post-battle stuff. How we're going to, uh, fix all the things we blew up. You know.”

“So why the private setting?”

“Mostly the chairs. Sorry, I just—we weren't excluding you or anything. We didn't know when you guys would be back.”

Loki scrunched his nose; there was an identical table and an identical number of chairs in the far end of the lounge, opposite the kitchen. Tony's excuse was as automatic as it got. “Don’t lie to me,” he huffed, walking towards one of the empty chairs. “I’m the _god_ of lies. I can't be fooled so easily.”

“Okay,” Tony muttered, closing his eyes. “Okay, sorry, that was a terrible attempt. Christ. It’s, um—”

“My past come to haunt me?” Loki suggested, sitting down.

“Something like that.”

“What's happening?” came Peter's voice; they all looked up to see him standing in the doorway, peanuts and phone both still in tow.

“Nothing important,” Loki said.

“No, this concerns him too,” Tony shot, glancing disapprovingly at him. “Come on.”

Loki returned the glare, then sighed and motioned for Peter. He capered over and sat awkwardly cross-legged in the seat next to him.

“I’m a little confused,” Peter said, setting his things on the table. “What past?”

“’What past?’” Steve gibed. “This happened, what, five years ago? You know what we’re referring to.”

“Five years ago?” He glanced wide-eyed at Loki and said, “Holy _shit,_ that was you?!”

“Hey!” Tony barked.

“Oh crap, sorry.”

Loki rolled his eyes and said, “So I'm still a villain after all.”

“Yep,” Steve chimed.

“No! Shut up, Cap _,_ ” Tony hissed back. “Okay, so legally—you're screwed. War criminal and all.”

“I thought Thor dealt with that?”

“Not officially.” He scrunched his brows and added, “Asgard isn't really a country anymore, so Thor isn't technically a king apparently? We're still figuring that part out.”

“Well,” Loki began with a thoughtful look, “once we've found everyone, we'll need to settle somewhere, won't we? So the lack of land isn't permanent. Hopefully.”

“Right, um—so people here have a lot of feelings about you. Including me.” Tony almost added the reason, but he stopped himself and simply continued, “But you saved our asses. It's pretty messed up to just kick you out after that. Or like at least two people here think,” he said with a glare, “throw you in one of our prisons.”

“Hey, I stand by that,” Steve said.

“Dude! I have the biggest reason to hate Loki out of any of us, and _I_ don't agree.”

“I bet he wasn't even tortured,” said one of the strangers—Quill, Loki distantly remembered hearing somewhere.

“You don't even know him!” Tony shot back. “And what the hell are you still doing here?”

“Free food.”

“Oh my God, would someone show him the door?”

“Jerks,” Quill muttered, standing up.

“Okay, so the point is! You're a huge, magnificent bastard—”

“I try,” Loki cut in with a smile.

“—but you've done some pretty awesome, not-bastard things lately and we're all kinda torn as far as what we should do with you.”

“I propose a vote,” Steve suddenly called. “All in favour of immediately arresting Loki for crimes against humanity, raise your hand.”

Several arms shot up.

“I'm flattered,” Loki began with a glance towards him, “but something tells me you'll have to go through Stark before that happens.”

“Right you are, Lokes.”

“When did 'Lokes' happen?” Strange asked, rolling his eyes.

“Today. And you've been way too quiet. You know something, don't you?” Tony squinted. “What else did you see?”

“That this discussion is completely pointless and almost all of the outcomes involve Loki winning.”

“The wizard's both half-rate _and_ clairvoyant,” Loki said with a smirk.

Tony snickered. “Nah, it was the Time Stone. He used it see how the Thanos situation might end. And apparently a whole bunch of things after that.”

“Um, can I say something?” Peter blurted.

“No. Wait, maybe. You're still alive. That's probably worth something.”

“What?” Bruce said.

“Oh yeah, I let Loki babysit him. Craziest impulse decision I've ever made, but hey—they're still here.” He turned and asked, “What did you guys do, anyway?”

“I showed him some magic and we got ice cream, as requested.” Loki whisked the pints into being in front of Tony, who chuckled. “I wasn't sure what kind you wanted, so I got several.”

“You got _ice cream,_ ” Steve said with a disbelieving frown.

“We also raided a nearby settlement and declared war on Portugal. Nothing major. Right, Peter?” he added, elbowing him lightly; Peter only grinned awkwardly.

“Okay, can we go back to the war crime thing?”

“You seem intent on maintaining your grudges,” Loki said, glancing at him and then Strange. “Pray tell, wizard, who died in the aftermath of our failure? Did one of them happen to be that tall, dark, handsome fellow I always see with Rogers?”

Strange hesitated for at least several seconds before saying, “Yes.”

Steve made a choked sound in the back of his throat.

“Was that necessary?” Tony hissed.

“I needed to prove a point,” Loki responded. “And for what it’s worth, I was bluffing.”

“Right. What point was that?”

“That it’s a good thing I was watching you lot.” He rolled his eyes and added, “You’re all terribly ungrateful.”

“Sorry, some of us are still a little shaken over your stunt,” Steve said.

“My _stunt,_ ” Loki repeated with a twitch of his eyebrow. “Are we thinking of the same stunt? Because if so, I thought I made it clear I was forced into it.”

“Forced? By who?”

“Who do you _think,_ Rogers?” he growled. “Did no one tell you? Stark, tell him about Titan, would you? But leave out the part about…”

“Yeah. He spent a good several minutes calling Thanos out on all the shit he did, which included forcing him to serve.”

Several people objected again, and Loki fought the urge to knock each of them unconscious. Thor was horrifyingly silent; Loki coughed a chuckle as he realized that he hadn't been present for the conversation either, and the new knowledge was just as jarring for him.

“Brother?” Thor whispered.

“You don't need to know,” Loki responded, shaking his head.

“Loki—”

“ _No._ ” A vicious glare crossed his face as he continued, “You will never hear about it from me. Do you understand? Thanos forced me and those are all the details I'll permit. I expect the same from the rest of you,” he added with a sweeping glance.

A moment went by in tense, smothering silence. Natasha was the first to break it; “Loki?” she tentatively began.

“Romanoff,” he responded, smiling briefly and semi-sincerely. “What say you? Do I belong in a prison?”

“That's… hard to answer. Personally? I don't think so. If I did, well—I'd be in prison too.”

“Oh?” His brows went up in genuine surprise. “That's new.”

“You think we were born heroes? God, no. We grew into them. People change, and it's wrong to take that opportunity from you. Hate to say it, guys”—she looked over the crowd—“but I'm siding with Loki on this.”

Bruce hesitated before saying, “We were on that ship together long enough. I can vouch for him.”

Several others followed suit and muttered their approval. At least two of them had raised their hands earlier, which Loki found bleakly amusing.

“Captain?” he asked; the word carried a faint mocking.

“Sorry, kid, but no.”

“First of all”—Loki rolled his eyes—“I'm a good thousand years older than you. And second, are you sure? Because you're somewhat outnumbered. No hard feelings, just pointing it out.”

“No hard feelings, huh? Then sorry,” Steve continued, deliberately and a little harshly, “but you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust a killer.”

Loki stared. Someone with a history like Steve's had no fucking right to accuse him of murder so flippantly—no right at all. He stood, walked over, and yanked him out of his seat by the collar of his shirt. “How dare you?” he hissed, dragging him away from the table. The crowd rose instantly; Peter withdrew to the end of the room, where he awkwardly watched the conversation from behind his food.

“I don't need to justify myself to you,” Steve growled.

Loki tightened his grip. “Neither do I.”

“Guys?” Peter called.

“The adults are talking,” Loki calmly replied.

“Let him go,” Tony said, standing. “That's enough. Both of you.”

“And what exactly did I do?” Steve shot.

“You pushed him, alright?”

“Pushed him? There was nothing to—”

The sentence fell flat as Loki thrust a hand to Steve’s forehead. Their eyes glowed a matching shade of green as he slowed down their perception, lifted the thoughts to the surface—

_(and there—)_

A knife ripped through his side and he screamed. He ~~never screamed~~ grit his teeth and choked the sound, enduring the fire with a long whine—then the man twisted hard and he screamed again; this time, it broke into a string of swears punctuated by short, desperate pants.

“Fight it,” the man hissed, wrenching the blade out.

Loki didn’t answer. The knife went through his shoulder and he grunted, pulled back as much he the chains would allow.

“Fight it!”

“I'm trying,” he softly stammered, “I'm trying—I can't, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm trying, I'm—”

Steve stumbled backwards then, tearing the link. Loki made to grab him again, but he was held in place by several members of the crowd. He yelled a foreign insult and pushed them away with a weak shockwave—he made sure it wasn’t strong enough to seriously harm—then pulled Steve close and replaced his hand, clutching him tightly as he produced the next memory.

Loki said something wrong again; he didn't remember what, but they didn't like it. Thanos was ~~checking on his progress~~ visiting, visiting for once— _(it's been a while, how long?)_ —and he lashed out, told him he was close, so close,

_(to greatness, glorious purpose, the poison's almost out, needs a little push needs—)_

A massive leg struck Loki in the chest and he flew several metres, landing on his back with a shriek—something cracked. He reached for his right ribs and immediately recoiled, teary-eyed, and hauled himself to his feet. The movement burned; he winced again and shallowed his breathing. “I'm sorry,” he wheezed, stepping back. “I'm sorry. It's a habit.”

_(what did you even say)_

One beat. Two beats.

The conversation changed; now he _really_ upset them. They wanted his help. They wanted him to retrieve an item as compensation for saving him, fixing Asgard's poison—

_(still want to die they didn't fix shit they didn't—)_

Glorious purpose. Asgard kicked him out for being better, stronger; he knew that now. He knew if he left, he would be no better than before. For a moment, though, there was the old Loki, and he doubted their words. He didn't want to help. He knew he was wrong for thinking so—it was automatic. He tried to take it back. Too late.

Thanos kicked him again and another crack sounded. Loki didn’t stand.

Kick; his chest was on fire. Kick. Kick.

The image flickered away.

_(thanos will bleed)_

The phrase hammered through Loki's mind like a chant. He didn't know where it came from, or why; they helped him. They made him better. His subconscious held a grudge, he supposed, and he should have blocked it out, but he couldn't. It was all he could hear as he observed his pale and mottled face in the dusty mirror, as he emptily brushed clumps of hair to the ground with his fingers. He tapped a tiny scar on his cheek and gratefully watched it fade under a cloak of magic, suddenly aware of just how much he'd missed it. Though the idea made itself present, he had neither the strength nor the willpower for anything other than cosmetics—and even if he did, it would be awfully thankless on his part.

_(thanos will bleed)_

Something dropped behind him and he stared at its reflection for several seconds before realizing it was his old armour, stacked together in a messy pile. He bent down to pick it up and examined its details, and then held it against his form, only to drop it with a hiccupped sob when he saw how oversized it appeared next to his gaunt frame. An alien swear escaped him and he turned away from the mirror, refusing to look at it again while he dug through the pile for his undersuit.

_(thanos_

_will_

_bleed)_

When he finally found it, he couldn't get over how gently it draped over his hands. The fabric felt wrong; it was too fine, too soft. It didn't grate his skin the way everything else did. He tugged the pants on with a long, drawn out grunt of pain, and did the same with the shirt and forearm wraps. The tightness ached, but it was a comforting ache. It soothed the swelling. He continued with the armour itself, first the bottoms, then the top, then the overcoat. The boots were last. He would have killed a man for a pair of warm, clean socks to wear them with, but just the ones he'd been wearing had been lost over the many months his clothes were in storage, so he had to make do with nothing. That was fine; he'd been doing it long enough. He slid his bare feet into the leather with another grunt, painfully aware of the multiple half-healed blisters along their lengths. They burned every time he moved, made him want to just sit back down and cry, but—

_(he'll have your head for that; get to work, boy, get to work!)_

He turned and chanced a last gaze at the mirror. The words were still there, scraping at his throat, but he didn't dare speak them. There was no point, and even if there was—

They were false.

Loki couldn't hold the memories any further. He released Steve and pressed himself to the closest wall, focusing only on the numbness in his body, the thrum in his ears. The voices blurred. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Tony hissed, gripping him by the shoulders.

_(breathe)_

“He didn't—”

_(breathe breathe breathe)_

“Didn't what?”

Loki heaved a large measure of air and shoved him off.

“He just—oh my God.” Steve brought a hand to his head. “He just—he just showed me his memories?”

Tony stepped back. “What?”

Loki shuddered and sank to the floor, where he sat with his arms curled around his knees. He could still feel his bones snapping, the hushed breaths he took for fear of puncturing a lung. He couldn't even see clearly.

“His memories,” Steve quietly said. No, not just _memories,_ Loki and him both knew; he’d used magic to enhance their vividness, their bite. They weren’t the real thing, but they were close. “No—no, maybe he—”

“Faked them?” Tony offered. “Oh, no.” He took another look at Loki and frowned. “You can’t fake this.”

It was a mistake, Loki thought; he shouldn't have showed him. His anger surpassed his pride again, and now—

“What did you see?”

“Thanos. Th-the things he did, he—oh, God. I feel like such a jackass.”

Any other day, Tony would’ve hissed a snarky censure regarding his language, but it seemed gauche given the context. Loki was still cowering on the tiles, wide-eyed and barely aware of the ongoing conversation. His breathing was so quick Tony worried he might pass out. “Hey,” he whispered, crouching next to him. “You alright?”

Loki muttered something in response and buried his face in his knees. Tony sighed.

“I didn't—”

“Cap. Hey. Shut the fuck up. You did this.”

“I told you”—his voice cracked—“he's _volatile!_ ”

“So you pissed him off and now he's freaking out, yeah. Good job! At least he got you too, huh?”

“Tony—”

Loki vanished.

A second passed.

“And now he's gone,” Tony said. “Great.” He stood and shot a harsh glare at the group, at Strange especially, who wouldn't even return his gaze. “You knew this would happen. Fuck you. Pete, I'm sorry you had to see that.” Then he turned and left.

No one spoke. There was simply nothing to say.

 


	18. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sees the disheartening consequences of Loki's experience the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter after this is being a bitch lol

Tony woke that morning as usual: he overslept the equivalent of several snoozes, after which FRIDAY suddenly drew the curtains, and he regretted for the umpteenth time the decision to hook them up to her systems. Then he pulled the covers tighter, shoved his face into a pillow, and continued to sleep.

It was about forty minutes past when he should've gotten up when he finally dragged himself out of bed. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and made his way down to the lounge, because damn, he wasn't in the mood to make _himself_ coffee. He thought it best to mooch off someone else's pot, instead.

The room was emptier than yesterday, with the remaining strangers having seemingly left for good. Some of them had been endearing, most prominently the talking raccoon, but they had lives to get back to, and it wasn't like he could stop them. A few of those present greeted him, and he muttered a hey or two in return.

Tony shuffled over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet for a random mug; the one he grabbed was bright pink and said “drama queen” in a curly, ostentatious font. He slid it under the machine and waited a moment for it to fill, before carrying it back with him to one of the couches. The current conversation wasn't anything special, but he nodded along regardless. He listened as the topic moved from the weather, to the news, to who was dating whom, and then to favourite desserts. Just nodding, nodding—until someone mentioned the ice cream from yesterday and he immediately snapped to full wakefulness.

“Where's Loki?” he asked.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

“Loki,” Bruce mirrored, a thoughtful look on his face. “He's not in his room?”

Tony frowned and got up, taking his coffee with him. He headed back to the dorms, eyed each door before he found the one he distantly remembered gifting to Loki—farthest on the left, a small crack in the corner. He knocked and waited for an answer, but none came. Several more moments passed before he tried the handle and discovered it was unlocked. He slowly entered.

The bed was empty.

He frowned again and made his way through the room. It was nearly untouched, with the only sign of life being the tangled bedspreads. The kitchen didn't seem to have been used at all. He found the bathroom and knocked just in case, but the result was the same. He opened the door and peered inside, only to find it was as barren as the other rooms, save for a single forgotten comb by the sink. He returned to the bedroom and sighed.

“FRIDAY, is Loki in the building?”

“No, sir,” she chirped after a few seconds. “He left about two hours ago.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

A moment passed. Tony grabbed a pillow and screamed into its depths until his throat hurt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dear Tony Actually Gives A Shit


	19. Reconciliation?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony reunites with Loki and tries to convince him to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA HEY IN CASE YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO SKIPS NOTES FOR SOME REASON DON'T SKIP THIS ONE BECAUSE I HAVE SOME REAL FUCKIN NEWS FOR Y'ALL
> 
> ANYWAY sorry that took a while I was busy thinking about how the loki show is probably gonna be straightwashed to hell and back because disney are homophobic cunts as well as illustrating some of the scenes instead of overcoming my writer's block
> 
> WAIT A SECOND DID I JUST SAY ILLUSTRATING SOME OF THE SCENES?!
> 
> Oh Yes I Did! as of this update you can see loki staring at thanos's corpse post-olaf from frozen impalement in chapter 11, and loki lowkey admiring tony stark in chapter 19 (THAT'S THIS CHAPTER!!!!!)

 

Thousands of miles and nearly a dozen hours away, the farmer's market was teeming with life. It was a crisp, late afternoon, and merchants and customers alike filled the streets, wandering back and forth between kiosks with bags and boxes in tow. The majority of the stands sold food; one of the most popular stops, for example, had several huge pots of soups and stews laid out, and stacks of disposable bowls next to them. There were other items to be found, of course, such as handmade garments and tools, but most of the action was centred around the consumables—particularly the soup station.

The large congregation was more than welcome, for it left the finer stands free of long waits. One such stand offered gourmet, if somewhat overpriced, preserved meats. There, the line was virtually nonexistent.

Loki strolled up, claimed two jars of fish, and with a smile, placed a single gold coin by the cash register. “ _Takk,_ ” he said, speaking the word as smoothly as any other. It wasn't quite his mother tongue, but it was close; otherwise, the Allspeak took care of it.

The woman stared, taken slightly aback by the uncanny payment, and then pinched it between her thumb and index finger. A hard push from her nails successfully dented the metal, confirming its makeup. Satisfied and still somewhat surprised, she slid the coin into her pocket (as a cash register wasn't exactly fitting) and awkwardly returned the smile.

Loki whisked the jars into storage and headed down the street, absently glancing left and right at the arrangements as he passed them. They reminded him of home, of their own markets back on Asgard, and he felt an odd bliss at the knowledge that some countries still carried their influences. He'd been here before and for various reasons over the years, but this was the first time he'd really appreciated the place. No wars, no secret plans—just the calm of a warm, windy square and everything it brought. In fact, his only gripe was that it was much warmer than usual, such that he wasn't properly equipped. To an outsider's eye, he was dressed in plain black pants and a dark green turtleneck shirt rolled to the elbows, but it was merely a glamour; underneath, the heavy leather did nothing for comfort.

It was a small price to pay for safety, so he ignored it for the most part. His main focus now was a display of hunting knives—weaker than he was used to, same as the sword, but knives nonetheless, which always gave him a little joy.

He barely picked one up to examine before a familiar voice called his name from behind. After another moment eyeing the blade, he set it back in its spot and turned, saying, “Hello, Stark.” His lips twitched into a half-second smile. “I was wondering when you'd come.”

“I'm sorry,” Tony simply responded, and Loki's expression shifted to a confused squint.

“What for?” he asked.

“You know,” Tony said, frowning. “For last night. The fight and everything.”

Loki stepped away from the kiosk. “That wasn’t your doing.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve stopped it before it got that bad.”

“Could you have?” Loki said, falling into another smile—dryer, disbelieving. Tony made to answer, only for him to continue, “Nothing short of beating us both bloody would have stopped it. You know that.” He glanced around them, noting the curious gazes. Most were directed towards Tony, as expected, but a few clung rather stubbornly to him, instead. Too stubbornly. “I think,” he calmly offered, “we should find somewhere quieter to have this conversation. Your fans are making me uneasy.”

“Yeah, you're probably right. Sorry about that.”

“No, I understand.” Loki ambled into the centre of the street, where the crowd was thinnest, and resumed his path down the market. “Walk with me,” he said, not looking to see if Tony was following, which he was.

“I just wanted to say—”

“Shh. Look at that.” Loki nodded at the passersby, who were still staring. “I enjoy attention as much as you do, I'm sure, but this isn't good for someone in my standing. You talking to me has already nulled my status here as a generic civilian.”

Tony coughed a sheepish chuckle and distanced himself, maintaining an otherwise even pace to Loki's right.

“Actually,” Loki abruptly began, “I could disguise you if you want. It would make things easier on us.”

“No thanks,” Tony replied.

At that, the enforced silence restarted.

They walked together for some five minutes, with Loki leading. He cut through various gaps and corners, ducked around others—very neatly avoiding collisions in both cases—while Tony trailed farther behind, opting for a safer route. Their terminus came just out of the market's boundaries, on a quaint, wooden bench nestled between two weed-riddled buildings. Loki sat waiting in one end; after some light deliberation, Tony joined him in the other.

The lack of dialogue dragged on for about thirty seconds, after which Loki asked genuinely, but with a humourous spark in his eyes, “Fancy a pickled herring?”

“A what now?” Tony said, comically recoiling.

Loki formed one of the jars in his hand and lifted it. “Scandinavian staple,” he explained, smiling again. “And Asgardian—and a few others, I think. Though I can't say which of us did it first. Anyway, they're good.”

“Uh… I'll try one later.”

Loki shrugged and returned the jar to its place. “So how did you find me?”

“You'll laugh if I tell you.”

“I might.”

“I did a global scan and then got Thor to bring me here. I would have flown, but…” Tony gestured absently to his chest, where he'd forgone any sort of casing in favour of a plain sweater. “It was already taking a while and I was kind of freaked out regarding this whole thing, so it was just a better option, I guess. Quicker.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You were worried?”

“Uh, after what happened? Yeah, a little.”

“I can defend myself.”

“Never said you couldn't.”

Loki paused, looking away as he crafted his next words. His nape felt clammy, he distantly noted, and he debated putting his hair up. “How is he?” he asked, facing Tony.

“He? Oh. He's… still in pretty bad shape. After you left, I guess he just had time to further process all that, and it—well, he's definitely worse. I can't even imagine what it was like.”

Loki didn't answer. “Good,” he flatly said. “He deserves a blow to his arrogance.”

“Can't say I disagree,” Tony muttered. “Forget about him, though. How are you, Loki?”

“Fine, you?”

“I mean, I've got all _this_ to deal with, but yeah, I'm okay.”

“We're both lying.” Tony opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shrugged in defeat. Loki only sighed. “I appreciate your concern,” he went on. It was Tony's turn to raise a brow.

“I owe you,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Loki shook his head. “You've done more than enough. That truce, for one—”

“Ah, fuck, the truce,” Tony groaned. “Yeah, and they went and screwed it up, didn't they?” Loki glared. “Two days—not even. That's all it took.”

“You're failing to see,” Loki sharply continued, “that even with that fight, this is still far more than I was expecting. I wasn't expecting the truce to last even a day. I was expecting—I don't know. I woke up in that bed and my first thought was, I'm going to die, and yet, you haven't made a single move on me.”

“But—”

“I'm not done,” Loki said, holding up a hand. “Your first instinct on Titan, after seeing all that and seeing how desperate Thor was—bless his soul—was to call for a _truce._ Most people would have looked at the way I fought out there, and the way I fought five years ago, and they would have said, no, I'm too unstable, I don't deserve this, whatever, and you didn't do any of that. You took me in, no questions asked, and that's more than you could have ever done. Stop belittling yourself, Stark.”

He didn't try to respond.

“Has anyone told him?” Loki softly asked.

“Thor?”

Loki nodded.

“Unless someone decided that ignoring a violence-prone demigod’s direct orders was a good idea while I was gone, no.” Tony leaned into his hands. “Why don’t you want him to know?”

“He’ll never forgive himself.”

“For what? For this? It’s not his fault.”

“Oh, it is,” Loki said, chuckling. “Trust me. And he blames himself. He blames himself every day, and I know it’ll only get worse if he finds out the true extent of the damage. I'm not that sadistic.”

Tony frowned. “What happened?”

Loki went quiet again, unsure how to answer. He could tell him, of course. He could list everything from A to Z—literally, _adoption_ to _zealot wanting him to serve._ He easily could have. Tony had already seen him catatonic with fear, crying his face off; knowing the tale in its entirety would do nothing to further harm his perception of him. It wasn't like the information could be used for anything, either; what, would he figure out what kind of _methods_ worked or how to make him talk? Tony could figure that out without the details.

It was tempting, certainly; Loki couldn't deny that. There was no benefit, though, just as there wasn't really any peril, so after another several seconds of deliberation, he decided to maintain the secrecy. No change, no risk—even small as it was.

His neck was still hot. With no additional thought, he pulled his hair up, whisked an elastic into being around his fingers, and tied it into a loose bun. He tested the security of the knot, then returned his hands to his lap. “That's a story for another time,” he said, and in the same instant, a weight in his stomach winked out of existence. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Whenever you're ready,” Tony said.

“Right. Why are you here?”

“Pete misses you.”

“Ah, so you're retrieving me.”

“That's not—no. Yes, but also no. I mean, I did want to check in on you, too.”

“And I still appreciate that. I do. Anyway, tell him I'm not comfortable around people who clearly dislike me. Unless”—Loki rolled his eyes—“you're okay with someone mysteriously turning up dead within the next week.”

“Yeah, please don't do that.”

“Murder or permanent vacation in Norway, Stark. Pick one.”

“Uh, okay, what if we just resolve any conflicts without killing people? Beat them up if you have to. Wait, no, that's also not good. Just—no violence!” Tony stuck out an arm for emphasis. “Yell at them or something, I don't know. Or turn them into a frog. You mentioned that once. That would definitely be a good punishment.”

“It'd certainly be fun to watch,” Loki admitted with a grin.

“And Pete would either lose his shit or adopt them.”

“Or both.”

“Absolutely right. And you know what? You will never get to see that unless you come back.”

“Unfortunate,” Loki deadpanned.

“No, no, it's not unfortunate because you”—Tony pointed—“are going to be there. You know why? Because he has been texting me for _three hours_ asking about you and oh my God, I can't take it anymore. Forget your weird fish market and come back already.”

“Hey, I like my weird fish market.”

“Okay, yeah, that was too far. Sorry for dissing the weird fish market.”

“If you say weird fish market again, I'm going to hit you.”

“Alright, change of topic. Remember what Nat said?”

“Not particularly.”

“The gist was that it would be super shitty and hypocritical if we kicked you out now because—and this is a _big_ because—at least half of us counted as criminals at some point. And you know what she forgot to mention? A few people are currently wanted! Currently. Let that word sink in.”

“Yes, it's sunk. And?”

“Then you acknowledge that I will personally fight anyone who causes shit because of your past because one, that truce is still on, no matter what anyone says, and two, we don't have room for hypocrites in our crazy super-family. Got that?”

“You don't just want Peter to stop harassing you?”

“No, jeez. I mean, yes, but not just that. I just want to make it up to you, you know? I feel terrible for letting you relive all those memories and this is my way of feeling less terrible.”

“I threw you out of a window,” Loki casually reminded.

“Uh, yeah, and you also stopped half the universe from dying,” Tony retorted. “I'm pretty sure that evens things out.”

“If you say so.” Loki paused, considering Tony's lack of suit—and that Thor had brought him here, supposedly. That was… interesting. He'd missed more than he thought, it seemed. “You really must elaborate,” he began, “regarding Thor and you. I'm curious as to how he managed the transport.”

“Oh, you're gonna love this,” Tony said. “Okay, so he needed a new weapon, right? I mean, from what I saw, he didn't actually get to use it, but—anyway. That axe he got, according to him, has the power of the… Bifröst?” Loki affirmed the pronunciation with a nod. “So it has that power imbued in it, apparently.”

Loki beamed, recognizing the description at once. “Of course he'd wield _two_ legendary weapons in a lifetime,” he said, holding the grin. “That's so like my brother.”

“Uh… wow. No context here, but going off the legendary weapon thing—wow. That's impressive.”

Just then, a young woman walked by, blithely asking in stunted English for a photograph.

Loki shot her a look and hissed, “Do you mind?”

She stopped, startled, and retreated to Norwegian for her answer. Loki cut her off again.

“We,” he tersely continued, “are talking here.” He finished with an obscure and somewhat obscene threat, just to drive the point home.

“Lokes—”

“Stark. Hi.” Loki shooed the woman with a wave of his hand; she gave a nervous giggle and hurried off. “You didn't actually intend on a picture, did you? Acknowledge one and the rest come swarming. You know that.”

“Okay, well, I could have politely declined. Also, what was up with that whole one-sided conversation thing?”

“Universal translation spell. She heard me in her native language and you heard me in yours. It's too complicated to fully explain right now. Don't worry about it.”

“Oh.”

“So, is Thor still here?”

“No, he left as soon as he dropped me off. Why?”

“I am _not_ teleporting across the ocean again.”

Tony immediately took out his phone.

Loki watched with a mild amusement as he dialed and redialed several different numbers in a row because yes, Thor still didn't have any modern means of communication, and as a result, contacting him was always an endlessly complex process. A few calls later, Tony seemed to find some success, and Loki waited.

A minute passed in silence.

 

 

“No answer?” Loki asked.

“No, he's there,” Tony said away from the mic. “He just won't stop talking.”

“Tell him to shut up and get over here.”

“What? No.”

“Oh, sorry, tell him _I_ said to shut up and get over here.”

Tony sighed. “Loki, uh—he said to shut up and get over here.”

“Hmm. I would have used more force, but I'll accept that.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony rolled his eyes and lowered the phone. “Okay, he's coming.”

“Great! In the meantime…” Loki summoned the jar once more and gave a cheeky grin. “You _really_ need to try one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact I have no idea what the fuck to write next haha this might take a while
> 
> (also someone please tell loki to get modern currency already)


	20. And Now for Something Completely Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony cautiously return to the compound, where they run into a familiar and less-than-pleased face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT HHHHHHHH THIS MONTH HAS BEEN A FUCKING MESS Y'ALL! Big Fucking Mess!!!! since I'm on the internet and I could be a 700-year-old mage for all you know I can safely say that:
> 
> \- my extremely powerful empathy is still a thing  
> \- I still have mild ptsd over not only infinity war but two fanfictions I read recently  
> \- I sound like I'm joking but empathy combined with hyperfixating and strong emotions in general mean it's easy for fiction to affect me very badly, and it's not the first time it's happened  
> \- I gave myself a panic attack after seeing a word that reminded me of one of the fics  
> \- I gave myself a panic attack listening to my shitty nerdy classmates discussing infinity war  
> \- "can you not talk about infinity war around me it's triggering" is a legitimate sentence I can say at this point but choose not to because it's cringy as fuck (even though it's 100% true)  
> \- also I'm failing school!  
> \- I have three final projects due in like two days that I haven't started but instead I'm writing a fanfiction  
> \- dysphoria is kicking my ass (the genderfluid loki tag didn't turn y'all off if you're here so I'm legally allowed to say this)  
> \- I gave myself an ear infection scratching a hell itch with a plastic stir stick because I'm a giant dumbass  
> \- I have a flight tomorrow and the antibiotics have only kinda helped and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die lmao  
> \- "the whole thing's a fucking mess, taika" -- cate blanchett, thor: ragnarok bloopers, 2017
> 
> sorry for rambling and here's not one, but two hot garbage chapters that were definitely not worth a month's wait
> 
> p.s I am most definitely not a 700-year-old mage

Laws didn't generally acknowledge the existence of superheroes, supervillains, and any matter of chaos that occurred as a result of the former two's interactions, both with each other and with the rest of the populace. This was fine until it inevitably brought up some very interesting dilemmas, such as whether or not saving the world was an acceptable reason to forgive prior endangerment of millions of civilians—as well as the collateral damage that followed the particular method of endangerment, which no one actually cared about. See: Loki's invasion of New York, which was definitely not a fully conscientious decision and was more the outcome of months of bottled up pain and anger, as well as a very large and very intimidating sentient prune breathing down his neck. Again, the law didn't care.

The law, as Loki usually maintained, was a universally stupid thing to be argued with whenever possible.

Tony muttered something about unnecessary paranoia and proceeded to calmly and very indiscreetly pick the main doors' lock (which was electric and shouldn't have been so easily pickable; Mr. Stark, everyone) while Loki watched with an almost approving smirk. Thor wasn't interested. He waited for him to finish and was the first inside, gone by the time they entered not a few seconds later.

They were both equally surprised to see Pepper standing across from the doors, arms crossed and a flat expression on her face.

“Shit,” Tony said.

“Smooth,” Loki shot back with a smirk. “Not even a hi?”

“Shut up,” he hissed. A moment passed before he uttered a quiet, “Um—hi.”

“Hi, Tony!” She gave a dry smile. “I thought you were dead. Again.”

“Ooh, you're really in for it now,” Loki teased.

“One more word, I dare you.”

There was a brief silence while the two seemed to be honestly considering a fistfight, during which Pepper, suddenly and alongside several unpleasant memories, recognized the newcomer. He was decidedly less sickly-looking and he wasn’t wearing armour, which were the only things that had ever stuck out appearance-wise, but he was unmistakably the same person. (Tony might have argued otherwise, but he’d know what she meant.)

“Is that who I think it is?”

“Stab-happy Norse god? Unfortunately, yeah.”

“Hey.” Loki glared at him.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Hey!” He glared at her too.

“See, it's kind of a long story. He just saved the world and doesn't have anywhere to stay, so—”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“Well,” Loki began, making for the nearest door, “I'm going to leave before it gets too awkward in here. Have fun, you two.”

“What? No!” Tony motioned furiously for him to come back, but to no avail. “Loki!”

A few seconds went by in silence before she sighed and said, “It's been three days since you mysteriously disappeared on a spaceship. You couldn't have, I don't know, called?”

“Yeah, I could've,” he said, glancing back at her with a frown. “I... got distracted? Sorry.”

“Distracted by what?”

“You won't believe me.”

“Eh. I might.”

“Okay.” Tony hesitated a moment. “Loki has... really bad PTSD. He's even worse than I was.”

“Flashbacks?”

“Loads.”

“So you were so worried about him that you just forgot to let me know that you're not dead.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Huh. Fair enough.”

“'Fair enough'?”

“Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed, but yeah, I'll accept it.” She paused. “PTSD over what, though?”

“Torture,” Tony deadpanned.

“Okay, yeah, that's pretty bad.”

“Speaking of, I need to go make sure certain someone isn't being an asshole to him again. I'll explain everything.”

He made to leave but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Pepper swung him around and kissed him long and hard, didn’t let go until their oxygen died and the point was hammered in Tony’s mind.

“Don't ever do that again,” she said as she pulled away.

“I won’t,” Tony answered with a bitter smile.

When he finally met back up with Loki (with Pepper trailing loosely behind), he found him in one of the couches, chatting quietly with Thor over the food he’d bought. His hair was still in a bun, but the unassuming sweater and pants had been replaced by the leather armour he seemed so fond of. Steve was nowhere to be seen, which admittedly wasn’t much of a comfort when he considered how their last meeting went—Tony edging into his room later that night to ask how he was, only to leave a minute later when Steve still refused to speak, refused to even look up from the pillows. How much Loki had shown him was unclear, but he imagined—hoped?—it was far less than what he had tucked away. He wondered, then, if some of Steve’s behaviour was in fact guilt rather than shock. Wishful thinking, most likely, but it didn't hurt.

Loki spared a smile as the pair joined them on the opposite couch, which Tony awkwardly returned. Pepper didn’t bother.

“It's quiet today,” she said.

“Everyone's out searching for what remains of Asgard,” Loki told her.

“'What remains'?”

“We lost the land. And most of the people. We were all living on a ship when he—Thanos, when he—when he came for us. He didn't...”

“He didn't intend on leaving survivors,” Thor finished.

Loki slipped him a frustrated but thankful glance, quietly continuing, “There were some. Earth was somehow the closet safe destination, so they all came here. We're trying to reunite everyone and... maybe find a new home in the meantime.”

“How come you're not with them?” she asked—genuine concern, from what Loki could tell, but the question seemed almost accusing.

“We're busy,” he flatly responded.

Tony elbowed her as soon as she made to interject, which prompted a glare. She sighed and turned towards Thor.

“So he saved the world?”

“From what I can tell, yes.”

“ _Loki_ saved the world.”

“Yep.”

“Well, weirder things have happened, I guess. Whatever you did,” she said, facing Loki again, “I'm glad.”

He only smiled.

“So, um—is it okay if Lokes and I talk for a bit? Alone. I just need to get something out of the way.”

“It's been five minutes, Tony. Are you serious?”

“I know,” he said, raising his hands. “I know. I still need to make it up to you.”

“You definitely do, yeah.”

“I definitely will. Eventually.”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight, yes, we are going to...” He stopped to give a deep, comically long look of deliberation; Loki stifled a laugh. “We're going to watch a terrible movie and fall asleep on the couch.”

“Deal.”

Loki smiled again, weaker, a little bitter almost. He really didn't want to know what Tony intended on discussing with him, but he got up as well and followed him. Thor beginning one of the few stories he had of Loki in a good light was the last thing either of them heard before the hallway killed the sound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pepper is slightly out of character and I know she's out of character but I literally can't watch any marvel movies right now to confirm how she acts because I'll just give myself a meltdown (insert me dabbing to hide the pain) so you'll just have to deal with a slightly out of a character pepper for now
> 
> also: Love triangle whomst??????


	21. Give It Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony describes a set of new rules intended to protect not just Loki, but anyone with a dark past, from interactions like yesterday's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you forgot how many chapters this story last had because it's been so long there were 19 (yes I posted two chapters at once to make up for my month-long tomfuckery) and you skipped one go back
> 
> if you already did that, carry on!

The handful of Avengers who had taken up permanent residence at the base all made their homes in one of about a dozen suites that had been set up shortly after the building was converted. They were identical in most respects; they were all naturally well-lit and housed a kitchen, bathroom, and a living room, alongside a bedroom. What Loki might have surmised (and promptly taken great offense to) if he deigned to explore each of the suites was that his, through some architectural misfortune or another, was the smallest, which was also why it remained the unofficial guest room. Tony’s, through the same kind of happenstance (supposedly; everyone claimed he'd planned it) was the largest. Other than the size, the only deviation from Loki's was a stocked fridge and the presence of a small and extremely haphazard tinkering area in the living room, which he occasionally used alongside his actual lab. That, and the permanently audible classic rock.

“I'm not turning it off,” Tony said, closing the door behind them. “Just to be clear.”

“Did you hear any objections?”

He shrugged and stationed himself in the kitchen, where he rummaged a moment for a clean glass. Loki, meanwhile, sat backwards on the sofa, arms crossed on the backrest and patiently waiting for him to finish.

“Why speak with me alone?” he asked, leaning into one elbow's crook.

“Because you're too proud to have this conversation while someone else is listening. First thing I noticed about you, Lokes: your ego is even bigger than mine.”

“How astute of you,” he said with a chuckle. “I'm assuming this is about yesterday, then.”

“Yeah, so here's what I'm gonna do,” Tony began, sticking the cup under the tap and switching it on; Loki winced slightly. “I'm gonna set some hard rules, which I shouldn’t even have to in the first place because most of them fall under, you know, general human decency, and I figured everyone here had the common sense to follow them.”

“It seems you figured wrong.”

“Yeah, how dare I just assume adults won’t randomly bring up traumatic memories?” He snorted and downed the water in one go, during which the song faded into a Dire Straits ballad and he quickly added, “I'm especially not turning that one off.”

“And I'm still not complaining. What kind of rules, exactly?”

Tony set the cup down and switched off the water before replying; he raised one finger and said, “Don’t intentionally remind people of shitty things that have happened to them”—he raised another finger—“don’t intentionally remind people of shitty things they’ve done”—another finger—“and don’t be a shitty person to people because of those things. Like I said, common sense.”

“Common sense isn’t all that common.”

“I noticed.”

Loki sighed and waved his hand, materializing a blank sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen on the counter. Tony stared a moment before quickly copying down what he’d just said. The notes went in his pocket and he tossed the pen back to Loki, who caught it deftly between two fingers and smiled at his bewildered expression.

“How the fuck?” he asked with a squint.

“Knife-throwing,” Loki plainly responded. “A thousand years’ worth of it.”

“Oh. Fun.” Tony paused. “What’s the farthest target you’ve ever hit?”

“A little over a hundred metres. Assuming my conversions are correct, anyway.”

“... I'm not going to ask how you managed that.”

“Don’t sound so worried. All it takes is good muscle and a sharp eye, nothing more.”

“Okay, back to the topic. Nat and Bruce will definitely be on board. Thor... also definitely on board. Pete’s good too. And Bucky—uh, tall, dark, and handsome fellow you always see with Steve—he’ll side with us for sure. The rest... probably only if I don’t mention it’s because of you. Though,” he added under his breath, “they’ll probably figure it out pretty easy.”

“Yes, because I’m clearly undeserving of basic decency. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Tony raised an eyebrow and said, “That better be sarcastic, Lokes, or so help me.”

“Of course, Tony.”

He didn't bother asking when or why Loki switched from last to first name, pretended he didn't even notice, in fact. Whether it was a sign of trust or he'd merely been deemed nonthreatening enough to permit a friendlier demeanour—honestly, either one meant Loki was a little more settled down than before, which was just too great a wonder to risk jinxing.

“You're staring,” Loki said.

“I was trying to imagine what your hair looks like without all that grease.”

“Well, if you're not laughing yet”—he absentmindedly felt the still-present bun—“you're doing it wrong.”

Tony considered for a few seconds what could possibly be so ridiculous, then gasped and whispered, “Goth Merida.”

“Who?”

“Oh my God, okay, so the main character in this one movie—Pete made me watch it once because of course he did—she has this outrageously poofy hair that's like, half her body mass, right, except it's _red,_ not black, so—”

“Goth Merida,” Loki said, nodding.

“Goth Merida.”

“Right. Tony”—he cleared his throat—“I still don't know why you're doing this for me. I mean, again—I threw you out of a window, on my own accord and with the intent to kill. That you don't hold a grudge against me is...”

“Crazy? Yeah, I know. And,” Tony continued after a moment, “I agree. I have no reason to care about you this much. None. Mostly I just feel a little indebted after what you did on Titan.”

“I appreciate that, but I don't think it's necessary.”

“No, shut up, Lokes. I owe you, okay? You just saved the friggin' world, for crying out loud. Not only is that impressive as hell and officially makes you the coolest person ever, it's also a really good reason to give you a second chance.”

“It was _one_ man.”

“Yeah, one man who was going to destroy half the universe if you hadn't stepped in. Jesus, I was just pointing out your ginormous ego and now you're acting like all that wasn't a big deal? Did I miss something?”

“I don't think everyone will agree with your rules,” Loki cut with a frown.

“They fucking better,” Tony snapped. “I mean, it's not just you. Almost all of us are at least a little traumatized over something, and if someone else can't get with that, they better find a way, because I don't need a repeat of yesterday. Don't go thinking you need to dig up that kind of shit every time someone doesn't believe you.”

No response came. To that, Tony sighed and walked over, standing firmly on the other side of the couch's backrest. Loki raised his head somewhat to meet his gaze.

“You're thinking it,” Tony said. “Right now. I can feel it.”

“I'm doing no such thing.”

“You're not? Are you sure?”

“One-hundred percent,” he said with a smile.

“So you're telling me with absolute certainty that you won't hit anyone here with your memories again, ever, at _any_ point after this conversation.”

“Exactly that, yes.”

“Well, good. Because from now on, you may consider me your personal trauma fairy, here to protect you from putting yourself through more fucked up shit because of some”—he waved his hand—“inconsiderate asshole who, uh, doesn't understand that you _are,_ in fact, worthy of basic fucking decency, and that not everything that comes out of your mouth is a fucking lie, like—like that you were _tortured,_ for Christ's sake. Do I need to swear more, or am I clear enough?”

“No, I understand,” Loki said, chuckling a little.

“Do you?”

“ _Yes,_ Tony.”

“I'm gonna pretend I didn't notice you rolling your eyes.”

He cracked another smile. “I think we should go make sure Thor isn't getting into the embarrassing stories.”

“Oh my God yes we have to protect your ego I totally forgot. Yes, absolutely. Right away.”

Tony immediately shot out the door, and Loki stared, somewhat dazed, before clambering off his seat and running after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to be clear I expect the entire marvel fandom to refer to loki exclusively as goth merida henceforth, myself included
> 
> also the song that was playing halfway through the chapter was brothers in arms and it's a very good song which you most definitely should go listen to (also if you suddenly realize how I got the title for this story no I'm not sorry and go listen to that song too)


	22. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally meeting what refugees have been found so far seems the best use of Loki's time, but not before an unpleasant reminder of the previous day's events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey I went back and rewrote some stuff and most of it's just extensive grammar and wording fixes but there's also a small but relatively important detail I changed in two areas and that is:
> 
> -loki says his ancestors instead of jotnar when tony asks about his gluten/dairy intolerance  
> -loki hesitates when he tells tony to test the aesir scanner on him and thor
> 
> basically despite the shenanigans on titan loki is still uncomfortable being upfront about his race and is relying on the avengers not knowing exactly what looks like that and has ice powers and by extension, not knowing all the associated negativity around frost giants. (for all he knows they think his appearance was a side effect of the magic and nothing more.) it's all kinda subtle but ain't everything?
> 
> anyway here's a garbage intermission chapter before I bust out the (mild) angst again

In accordance with the universe's tendency towards general misery and misfortune, the good news was followed by bad news. No one was surprised, least of all Loki, who'd become a little too close to both for his comfort. He hardly even noticed.

The good news was that Thor hadn't embarrassed Loki yet, as he occasionally did when one left him rambling too long. Much the opposite, in fact. When the words to his first tale ran out, he'd switched to one of Loki's own favourites; this one involved him physically besting a group of well-known tyrants using only his wits and the surrounding environment, which, as it happened, was a fine tavern in the lower edge of the city. Between Loki's well-placed irritation that day, and their being royalty, he and Thor never needed to pay a single coin to drink there ever again. That was centuries ago—they both still agreed it was one of the finer definitions of the word _mischief_ as it related to Loki.

The bad news was that, as they came back into the room, so did Steve, seemingly for no other reason than to clear his head. Hell, it shouldn't have been bad news—it should have been good, great news, because it meant he was feeling better. Yet he was still as Tony last saw him, slow and dishearteningly quiet under the weight of Loki's memory cocktail, and no one had any idea how to act or what to say. Simply nothing was probably best, because he clearly didn't want to talk to anyone, especially not Loki. Loki didn't mind. He knew what he was getting into when he shared those thoughts, and he couldn't blame the man for reacting as he did. It'd taken him long enough to accustom; fact was, Steve was coping much better than he first had. He was strong and stubborn and he'd most likely be fine within weeks, days even, and all he'd remember would be do not, do _not mess with Loki, because he has gone through some shit and he won't hesitate to bring that shit upon you, Captain America—so don't fuck with him, understand? No one fucks with him and gets away with it._ Tony would certainly say that, given the chance; it wasn't surprising that the words formed in his voice.

He sighed and walked over to where Pepper was still sitting with Thor. She looked up after a moment, and he cleared his throat and quickly whispered the situation to her, do what she will with that information—maybe she could even help, who knew. She only gave a tight, uncomfortable smile and nodded.

Tony was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, considering his next course of action. The building was as empty as it was those roughly ten minutes ago, which was fine; he figured he'd drag everyone to another awkward dinner in the lounge and discuss his plans there. It worked last time. He mumbled something under his breath and sat in one of the empty seats. Loki remained upright beside him.

“Maybe we should just head out for now,” Tony quietly began. “Might do him some good.”

“Unlikely,” Loki answered, shaking his head. “All he'll do is dwell. But he'll do that regardless, won't he?”

“Probably. I'd take him with us, but... well, yeah, that's not gonna work. Jeez, Lokes,” he muttered. “Maybe you should—”

“I've considered it. It might be best. If...” A brief frown crossed his lips. “If he lets me. I don't think he will. But I can try.”

“Okay. Okay, that's good. Just try. That's good enough. I just can't stand seeing him like this. And I know—”

“I'm petty and it was the best way to get him to shut up,” he calmly interjected.

Tony coughed an awkward chuckle. “Thor,” he said, glancing at him. “I hear the search is going well. I would _love_ to meet your people.”

“I'd like to see if someone I rather poorly healed is still alive,” Loki said with a snort, “so I'll come too.”

“Two of us, great! Pepper, you should totally join. Please. I'm going stir-crazy in here.”

“Weren't you just outside?”

“In _Norway,_ no less,” Loki added, smiling slightly. “Don't be so dramatic, Tony.”

“Shut up.”

Loki shrugged and left the room. Thor and Pepper followed him a moment later, leaving Tony alone with Steve; he glanced expectantly at him, but got no answer. He hesitated a few more seconds before he sighed and went after the group.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I should stop writing garbage endings  
> also me:


	23. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to New Asgard is long and uncertain, and Loki can't help but doubt his place in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you go back. to chapter 12. you'll see an extra paragraph at the beginning. with some very subtle details that will become relevant sometime in the near future. :) and some extra description regarding loki's room in case you're into that. :))) and actually. a lot of the chapters have been getting some heavy editing and if you're not a new reader maybe skim a little. :))))))) you might find. some Secret Angst. ;)
> 
> (in other news I'm considering actually making an outline for this story because save for the various non-chronological chunks I've written throughout the document I know just as little about what's going to happen as you all do lmao)

There were twenty-seven known Asgardians left in the universe; twenty-nine if Thor and the nameless Valkyrie were included; thirty if Loki counted himself, which he didn't. The camp in front of him, set up in a small clearing not ten minutes' walking distance from the compound, held eight, as well as several Avengers scattered throughout.

Pepper was off introducing herself with Thor, and Tony had been delayed by something or other, so it was just him in that corner of the field. He felt unusually out of place and wanted nothing more than to find Svala's mother and leave, but the way things tended to work out—it was really becoming a problem lately—there was no point entertaining that train of thought. Or the next one, probably, but that one kept roaring down its tracks regardless.

He kept thinking, somewhat uncomfortably, that he had neither a right nor reason to be there, because he wasn’t really an Avenger, and Asgard wasn't really a home. It stopped being one years ago, when his lineage came out, when his misdeeds started piling too high, didn't matter, but by the time it burned, he couldn't bring himself to care. It was a long-term residence, not a home—he drifted too much for homes, anyway. The people were the same. He grew up with them and loved them all rather fervently, but he didn't consider them his—he didn’t consider anyone his people. The idea, he supposed, was that he wasn’t obliged to help, but it was a godawful attempt on his mind’s part, because he still cared a hell of a lot about Thanos's rampage. He was callous, but not that callous. Seeing proof of that number nearly sent him into another attack.

Tony touched down a short distance from him.

“God,” he muttered, shedding his suit. “This place looks like a slum.”

Loki shrugged. The camp was little more than several wall tents set up in one end and a pile of metal crates in the other, with various other items strewn around the field. It was a far cry from both Asgard and the Statesman, but it served its purpose. He'd made do with far worse, he almost responded, and nearly drew blood biting on his tongue. It wasn't worth Tony's reaction.

“How do you even begin to rebuild something like this?” he asked instead.

“You find somewhere to put it first,” Tony answered, sitting on one of the boxes. “Easier said than done, considering the entire planet's been claimed.”

“That's usually how it is.”

“So we could go the city route, which would definitely be less complicated, but that's a pretty big leap from what you had. And it's not gonna work with the whole war criminal thing,” he added, closing his eyes briefly.

“Oh, you're smart.” Loki grinned. “You'll figure something out.”

“Probably,” Tony admitted, returning the grin. “But I'm getting people denying Thor's a king—he is, he is absolutely a king in my book, a totally rad, sparkly king—uh, because your land blew up, and okay, I can understand that. That's a perfectly reasonable argument. Problem is, they're somehow using it to deny your acquittal. I think I mentioned that.”

“You did,” Loki confirmed, sitting next to him.

“It's just some technical bullshit. There's probably a way around it, but I guess everyone's too focused on following their stupid books for that, because we've heard nothing since it was first brought up. And no one wants to bring it up again because it just means a bigger chance that somewhere, some military is gonna get antsy about you being on Earth—never mind that you're under the Avengers' watch—and go ballistic on you. And us. Mostly you.” He frowned. “Seriously, just having you outside right now is risky. I don't know why I'm allowing it.”

“I'm too stubborn to be kept inside,” Loki said, chuckling. “I could disguise myself.”

“You shouldn't have to!” he cried, almost indignantly. “Come on, Lokes. You weren't yourself back then. I'm getting a second look at you now and I can say that pretty confidently. And you were—you said it yourself—you were forced into all that, weren't you?”

For a brief and deeply discomforting moment, saying yes seemed like lying. The voices in his head were restless again; they screamed guilt and anger and shame, _(don’t pretend it wasn't you out there,)_ and it almost got to him. Almost. He breathed in. Breathed out. It still felt like a lie, but it slipped out a little easier this time: “Of course.”

“Okay, look, I'm not a lawyer, I don't know what I'm talking about, but I'm about ninety-percent sure that means, at some level, you can't be held completely responsible for what you did. God, I'm rambling again,” he muttered, pressing his hands to his face. “This has nothing to do with Asgard, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Keep working on it. You seem determined enough. In the meantime, I'm going to see who's here.”

He pushed himself off the box with a grunt and made for the tents. The flaps were all open and he not-so-cautiously peered inside each one; there were beds set up, but they were all empty, as he expected. He hummed a vague acknowledgement to himself and then slowly made his way through the field.

“You mentioned you were looking for someone in particular,” Tony said, coming up behind him.

“A girl and her mother,” Loki answered, not looking away from the mingle of people. “I healed the latter a few days ago and I'd like to check if I actually succeeded.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You didn't strike me as the healer type.”

“I'm not,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I know some spells, but I don't exactly practice them.”

“Fair enough. Hey, worst-case scenario, how do you feel about me just buying everyone a house in, I don't know, Norway? It's Asgardy, _you_ clearly like it there—”

“I wouldn't mind. I doubt anyone else will. We've lost everything, Tony. A damn cave would work at this point.”

“Okay, come on, you don't want a cave.”

“I don't need one,” he said, casting a lopsided grin over his shoulder. “I have the Avengers to mooch off of.”

“Don't get used to it.”

“You're not going to remove me, are you?”

“Me? Nah. But someone else might want to.”

Loki smiled again. “You won't let them.”

He didn't try to object. Loki, meanwhile, had stopped walking, eyes trained on the little girl Pepper was chatting with. He quietly crept into their periphery and waited just as quietly to be noticed, much to Tony’s amusement. The girl stared a moment when she saw them, then grinned and ran over.

“I missed you,” she said, hugging Loki at the waist.

“Hello to you too,” he responded with a chuckle, then returned the embrace as best as he could. “I was only gone for a few days, Svala. Don't get so attached.”

“I thought you were _dead._ ” Her eyes widened at the word.

“You know I can't be killed so easily.”

She let go and glanced behind him. “Who's this?”

“Tony Stark, hi.”

“One of Midgard's great heroes,” Loki explained, smirking slightly.

“ _And_ great engineers.”

“And great engineers, yes. He's not very good at being humble, you see.”

“Neither are you,” he said with a snicker.

“Oh, well—” Loki gave a laugh of his own. “You're not wrong.” He allowed himself a moment to calm down, then glanced back at Svala and very casually asked, “How's your mother, by the way? I didn't see her here.”

“Amazing! The scar's barely even noticeable.”

“See? Don't doubt yourself so much, Lokes.”

“I'll doubt myself as I please, _Tony._ ”

“Loki,” Svala suddenly said, “you’re here to help, right?”

He froze, unsure how to reply. His first instinct was to decline, but he felt responsible—guilty, even. Any other day he'd have just made a snide remark and removed himself from the problem. He didn't want to care, and he usually didn't. But Svala? It would have been nothing but cruel.

He said the same thing as he did to Tony: “Of course.”

Svala's grin widened and he hesitantly returned the gesture. The lie was embarrassingly cheap, but it seemed to do the trick. Tony, meanwhile, had nothing but disappointment in his eyes. He almost wanted to explain just so he'd stop glaring at him like that. It wasn’t his fault that he felt no genuine desire to help resettle the place, and anyway, he was trying. He deserved a little credit for that.

If Tony had noticed his discomfort, it wasn’t obvious. Loki brushed beside him and said, “Well, come on. Let’s go help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep! delaying the angst! with side shit! and I don't like it I want to get that One fucking evil chapter I wrote preemptively like months ago up and running already Hhhhjhhhhhhh h hh h h but important plot I guess. on a somewhat related note I actually have no idea how to start the next chapter and I might drop off the face of the earth for a period of time again so uhhh don't hate me lmao


	24. Nothing's Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki feels it may be better for him to rest alone than help with Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! just spent the past several weeks realizing that I have some absolutely wild consistency mishaps in this story and I'd like to get those out of the way real quick. I revised most of it/am in the process of revising but I can't expect everyone to reread everything so here's the important stuff:
> 
> -ragnarok and the statesman incident were months apart; asgard (and bruce, and everyone else) were living on the statesman for at least several months, unlike how I'd written it previously for whatever reason
> 
> -[redacted: loki doesn't teleport apparently but actually he does, please ignore]
> 
> so yeah, I went and rewrote most of that, and whatever I've missed is getting revised as we speak.
> 
> other fun stuff: if you go back to the chapter where steve was being a shoe and loki flipped out on him, you'll see an extra few paragraphs at the beginning involving, wait for it, peter and loki! (and a few paragraphs with just loki after that.) go check that out if you're into that I guess
> 
> and last but not least, this is absolutely mandatory and I legally must do this every time I take like four years to finish a chapter: sorry for taking so long and please enjoy! it's not the best but if I indulge my perfectionism any longer I will literally die

When the sky suddenly clouded over less than a minute out of the camp, Loki couldn't tell if it was Thor, sensing something was wrong and inadvertently taking whatever he’d sensed to heart, or simply the universe playing a grand joke on him. It was still warm—warm by Loki’s standard’s, anyway—and it wasn’t raining, thank the Norns for that, so he wasn't overly upset. Distantly, he was a little worried that he'd begun to slip, but he tried not to think about it.

Tony was still trailing awkwardly behind him; he hadn’t bothered with the suit yet, which Loki appreciated somewhat. They were awfully silent as they walked. Loki expected him to mention the knowing look they’d shared. It felt almost inevitable. The silence would peak and then he'd ~~panic~~ have to explain. He didn't know what he would say.

Tony didn’t mention the knowing look, exactly, but Loki wasn’t surprised when he suddenly asked, “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

Loki stopped walking and turned. He stared a moment, peered over Tony’s shoulder, and when he was sure they were alone in the field, he smiled and gave a nonchalant, “No. But I do want to help.”

“No, you don’t.”

Loki opened his mouth, realized he didn’t have an answer, and then sighed. “I don’t, yes. What do you want me to say?”

“I guess a reason would be nice,” Tony offered, absentmindedly putting on a pair of sunglasses with one hand. “I’m just curious. Feel free to ignore me.”

Loki pondered the question. He knew Asgard stressed him, he didn’t know _why,_ and he also knew that his last give-a-damn regarding the place had mysteriously vanished years ago—hence the inability to invest himself any deeper than making sure everyone was alive. That was a more than fair answer, but it was just vague enough that Tony would immediately go psychologist on him and call it the result of centuries of losses or something similarly overdramatic, and good luck convincing him that it was just run-of-the-mill apathy with no real explanation other than Loki preferred to give no shits. At the end of it, he simply shrugged and said, “I don't like the responsibility.”

_(hypocrite)_

“That's it?”

“That's it.” _(it doesn’t mean as little to him as it does to you)_ “I'm not much of an attachment person.”

Tony nodded briefly to himself and then resumed walking. “Same as before?”

“What, searching together?” Loki chuckled. “That didn't work and you know it.”

He took the sunglasses off. “I panic around you. Not my fault.”

“I panic around you too! I still trust you. You could do the same for me. What happened to me and Peter?”

“That was a one-time thing that I completely regret,” Tony said, hands raised. “Kid thought it was great, but at what cost?”

“You're escalating this,” Loki hissed, closing his eyes. “Please don't escalate this.”

“Fine, I won't. I won't. Sorry. Do you actually want to go back? I'm okay with that. Just tell me.”

“Go back and do what, feel bad about not caring about Asgard?”

“Yeah.”

Loki hesitated. He rubbed his hands together, looked away, looked back at Tony and said, “I'm not comfortable at the compound.”

“Yeah, why would you be?” He snorted. “Place feels like you'll get lynched if you breathe wrong.”

“You feel that way,” Loki said, incredulous. “You?”

“We had a bit of a falling-out a while back. We’re still not quite over it. You know how it is.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I know exactly how it is.”

“Well, so—here’s the thing, though.” Tony re-equipped the glasses; Loki raised an eyebrow. “I still don’t trust you. Okay, I trust you enough to let you go off on your own, but I don’t trust you _that_ much. Set locations for now. So,” he added after a moment, “you’re either there or here.”

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Great. Don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to and don’t talk to the Capsicle, because I swear, he has been so close to flipping out on me the entire day and it’s the last thing any of us need. And if the main doors are locked again for some reason”—he sighed heavily—“you should be able to get them open with, uh, five, three, eight, nine, zero, eight, two, four. You get that?”

Loki nodded.

“Tell me if it doesn’t work. Thing's so unreliable,” he added under his breath, “it's easier to just pick the lock most days.” Pause. “Want a ride?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Tony pocketed the glasses and smiled sweetly—enticingly, Loki could clearly tell—as the suit assembled around him. He left the headpiece off in favour of maintaining the grin. “You sure?”

“It’s a ten minute walk.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to see if it would work. There’s a library on the ground floor. Have fun. And seriously,” he added after a brief pause, “don’t break anything.”

“Keep saying that and I’ll blow the place up just to spite you.”

“Duly noted. See you later, kid.”

The rest of the armour formed and he flew off into the city. Loki stared after him, surprised and more amused than offended by the term—surprised by how he'd gotten off so easily, too. He chose not to question it. He reached up to quickly redo his bun, turned invisible, double-checked that he was actually invisible, and then began walking in the opposite direction. He didn't know why he bothered cloaking himself other than it made him uneasy to imagine someone spotting him, realizing he was ditching ~~again~~ , disappointing Thor or Svala or whoever else—so he stayed like that. It didn't do any harm.

Loki cleared the spell once he was in front of the doors. He strode up, glanced once over his shoulder, and tested the handle. There was no resistance. He let out a breath and entered.

It was empty again, as usual. Coupled with the present assumption that Loki had gone off with Tony, the uncanny stillness made him feel an awful lot like he was trespassing. He wondered how he'd explain his being there.

Loki slowly walked to the end of the foyer, where there was a large floor map framed on one of the walls. A rough look showed several sets of stairs, several elevators, and at least two dozen rooms, none of which were labelled. The largest one, he surmised, was probably the library. He stepped back from the map and oriented himself. Hallway to his right, door on the left—he glanced again at the image, just to make sure, then headed down.

The library was empty too. There was a long line of windows and some chairs along the farthest wall; the rest of the room was rows of bookshelves, as expected of a library. Loki quietly made his way through and pulled out a random book—non-fiction, something about economics, and far too thick for such a topic. He slid it back into its spot and began reading spines. Everything was non-fiction, by the looks of it, which wasn't very surprising—the Avengers probably didn't have time to bother with novels. That was fine. Loki stepped into the next aisle and read the spines there; world history. He browsed a moment and then pulled out a book titled _A Brief History of the United States of America._ It was anything but brief, judging by the size, but something like that would be more than enough to keep him interested—and if he was going to be reading, it might as well be something useful. Catching up on countries always worked.

Loki tucked the book under his arm and carried it with him to the lounge. He entered slowly, shoulders tensed and hands tight, then immediately relaxed when he saw that it was as empty as everywhere else. Part of him had expected a confrontation—still was, if he was being honest. Even though he knew he had a right to be there, he couldn't shake the fear. It was unfounded, he told himself; he was reading a book, not sacrificing someone or whatever it was the Avengers thought he did in his free time. There was no reason to be this goddamn paranoid.

He set the book on the couch and paused, briefly lost in thought, then stepped into the kitchen. A hot drink would serve him well—it probably wasn't a good idea, not here, not now, but it would serve him well. Hopefully no one would object.

There was an electric kettle by the sink and the window on the side showed there was enough water for a small cup of tea; smaller than he would have liked, but it was better than nothing. He flicked it on and began searching the pantries. In order, there were dried goods, cans, baking supplies, and an absurd amount of spices. The second-last one had several large tins of ground coffee and a dozen different teas. He picked a box at random—pomegranate black tea—and pulled a single bag out, then returned the box. The mugs were in the next pantry. He grabbed a small and entirely unexceptional purple one and set it on the counter, next to the kettle. Then he leaned back and waited for the water to boil.

A minute passed. Loki leaned in and saw a lone bubble rise and pop unceremoniously. He sighed.

Twenty more seconds passed.

The kettle briefly stayed on after boiling point, then shut off with a click. Loki dropped the teabag in the mug and carefully picked up the kettle. He held it for a long, uncomfortable moment, breathed in, and slowly tipped it at such a precise angle that the stream made no sound entering the porcelain. He'd practiced a few times; it wasn't too hard to pull off. The mug took nearly another minute to fill like that, but it was a small price to pay, he figured. He left roughly a centimetre of buffer before just as carefully straightening the kettle and returning it to its dock.

Loki stared at the mug. Steam rose sluggishly from its depths. He waited for it to die, drifting in and out of focus for about a minute, and then took the mug by the handle. His fingers didn't stray once as he carried it to the couch. He didn't want a burn, of course. Loki also made sure he kept it firmly at his side when he sat down, away from the book. He never spilled drinks when reading; years of doing so had taught him the necessary coordination and reflexes. Still, he fretted over the possibility. It wasn't his to spill on, for one. And two—

Loki didn't go there.

Gingerly, he lifted the book onto his lap and began to read.

 


	25. When the Doubts Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony continues searching on his own. He wonders if leaving Loki was a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well I just realized it's been over a month (again) and I have a horrifyingly poor sense of time and after a brief moment of panic about my poor sense of time and how it's already march and what the fresh hell where did the time go uh I managed to finish this more or less
> 
> I wrote 90% of this chapter like weeks ago in basically one day on some kind of wild fanfic bender and then got hit with writer's block out of nowhere and had to force the rest out, which lemme tell you was not fun! but it's finally here and not too bad so enjoy I guess

Tony didn't know why he kept doing it.

Loki wasn't the same person he'd met six years ago. That much was clear. Painfully, undeniably clear. He was politer, for one. He laughed at jokes. He didn't have that feral look in his eyes. There was murder there the first time Tony looked at them; something wild, dark, itching to strike at any given moment. The look was gone now. In the few days Tony had been with him, he hadn't seen it once. Loki was calm, composed—even when he lashed out at Steve, there was no trace of that urgency. And yet, at the end of the day, he was still Loki. He was still the man who nearly killed him, no matter how much Tony tried to deny it; he was still the man who had taken his life and shattered it from the inside out, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He could deny all of it. It didn't change a thing.

Loki was still himself. Tony was still terrified of him. For all his wits, he couldn't understand why he kept doing him so many favours.

He landed on the roof of a skyscraper and promptly pulled up the notes he'd made. They were all transcribed from his in-flight ramblings and made into more or less coherent graphs and tables. There was the total count, first and foremost: twenty-seven. It followed him wherever he went. That was how many Asgardians had escaped the ship when it was attacked—how many had been seen, anyway. Thor hadn't mentioned how many people had been on the ship prior to the incident, so he couldn't really place a number, but he knew there were more survivors than twenty-seven. Was he being too optimistic? Probably. He simply couldn't believe that such a vast society could be reduced to two digits. He knew there was something deeper. There had to be.

Tony let the helmet melt away and sat on the building’s edge.

He thought about Loki. He wondered if he’d made a mistake leaving him completely on his own. Peter watched over him the last time—Tony made it out like it was the opposite, but really, sending them out together was more about making sure Loki didn't perform some atrocity than it was about Peter's safety; the kid could fend for himself just fine. There was no one now.

Tony wondered if Loki had even returned to the compound in the first place.

He could easily find out, of course. The new Avengers facility wasn’t nearly as heavily wired as the tower had been, but he had nonetheless managed to sync FRIDAY to a substantial portion. He set her up with the security cameras first, so he could remotely view their footage from certain other rooms as well as the Iron Man suit. Other things came as needed; the curtains in his room, for example, when he became too lazy to move them himself. He also tapped some of the walls in problem areas—areas where security cameras couldn’t reasonably be placed. There was no footage involved in those cases, emphatically. He knew exactly how much of a privacy invasion something like that was and made damn sure it was kept at a minimum—at most, it was a matter of FRIDAY telling him who was in the room at that moment; at least, he could merely converse with her from that area and that was it.

Loki's room, he absolutely loathed to admit, was tapped the day after Titan; Tony did so as soon as possible, which was approximately the very instant he found out Loki had left to clear his head post-breakfast. He could learn in ten seconds if he was there now, but the prospect felt awfully intrusive. It always did.

A minute passed staring at the blur of traffic below. He put the helmet back on and asked, with no hesitation, “Is Loki in the building?”

There was a brief pause. “He is,” FRIDAY answered.

That was all he needed to know. Still, Tony went ahead and also asked, “What's he doing?”

“Reading.”

“His room?”

“One of the common areas, actually. The only one anyone ever uses,” she clarified after a moment; Tony knew exactly which one she was talking about.

“Good to hear,” he absentmindedly replied.

“Don't tell me you're worried about him.”

“What? No. Hell no. I just don't want him causing any trouble.”

FRIDAY went silent, but not before Tony heard what he could have sworn up and down was a doubting giggle. He blushed, somewhat offended, then stood and returned to the sky in one swift moment. He had more important matters to deal with.

Tony had again tested Loki's addition to the suit's scanners at the camp, and he had seen a perfect division between Asgardian and otherwise, so he had good faith it would help pick out any stragglers in the city. He still didn't know how Loki had managed it; there were no surface differences between the races, and scans based on anything subtler than what the eye could see were impossible. Obviously, he'd used magic, but it still followed a technological basis, and Tony couldn't help but wonder if the underlying method could be applied in other areas. It would be useful, for sure. He'd have to ask him at some point.

Tony flew for about five minutes with no results.

They turned to ten. Fifteen. He didn’t feel them passing by.

In about twenty minutes, according to the clock in the corner of his view, he had crossed most of that half of the city. Nothing stuck out. Still, he diligently continued his search, because even that was valuable information. With some slight margin of error—those in buildings, the like—it meant they’d found all that could be found, and that meant that he could move on to other areas.

The consistent claim was that everyone had landed somewhere in North America. He could expect clusters of up to five, based on what had been seen so far. Svala and her mother had been together, of course. The three women who had supposedly helped Loki reach Titan were somewhat more spread out, but they were still within the same several blocks. The remaining three had been found similarly.

God, he needed to learn their names.

Shortly after the half hour mark, Tony began wondering if he could pull off a global scan based on such wide criteria. He’d considered it previously, but he hadn’t attempted it yet for mostly—

Practical reasons. Practical reasons, he wanted to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. He’d found Loki in no time flat with the same technology, and a few Asgardians shouldn’t be much harder. If he figured out the exacts of what Loki had inputted into the suit, Tony would have everyone gathered in a week, at most. Except again, everything that separated the two races was internal, and damnit, nothing was that precise. Barring magic, of course. He _really_ needed to ask Loki about it. That was the only problem. It was difficult enough convincing himself to let him tinker with the Iron Man, but the worst that could have happened with that was having the suit blow up. Loki would have access to a far greater range of machinery this time around, and it made him somewhat uneasy, to say the least.

Tony knew that if Loki had anything planned, he probably would have done it three days ago, on Titan, with the de-Thanosed Infinity Gauntlet. It would have been laughably easy to just grab it and run. Loki hadn’t. Still, there was a creeping fear that even if he wasn’t so viciously desperate anymore, he might do _something_. He’d done a lot for them that couldn’t be placed within miles of malicious—wiping Peter’s memories of the battle, for example. That should have been enough to trust him, but paranoia liked to rear its ugly head every time Tony thought that, claiming it was exactly what Loki wanted: to get them just off guard enough to strike.

The non-paranoia part of Tony thought it was completely unfair to think that. He would ask him today. He didn’t care.

Forty-two minutes after beginning the search, Tony received a call from Peter. He stared at the icon for a moment, surprised, then answered it.

“Don't you have school right now?” he promptly asked.

“Yeah, but class just ended,” Peter explained. “I've got five minutes or so.”

“Okay,” Tony said, unamused. “Why are you calling?”

“I wanted to ask if I could come by again.”

“Why are you asking me? Of course you can. As long as Aunt May knows.”

“Okay, thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“No problem.”

Peter hung up after that. Tony sighed and resumed his search.

At ten minutes, he put on a playlist of his favourite songs, keeping it just quiet enough that he could still hear anything that needed to be heard. Most of it was Queen. At twenty-four, he suddenly remembered a dead promise to Pepper regarding a fancy dinner. He'd plainly forgotten in the chaos, and from what he could tell, so had she. Still, he felt awfully guilty; he wondered if he could fit something in that night.

He flew like that for another hour, systematically scanning the city to the tune of old rock. He got beyond the city, even, but save for what appeared to be a clown flash mob—classic New York—and someone robbing a corner store wearing a fursuit—also classic New York—he didn't see anything interesting, nor anything related to Asgard. The radar hadn't tripped once since the camp. He wasn't particularly surprised; manual rounds were hard to keep efficient, even with help like he had. Most of what he was doing at this point was just to make sure he wasn't being completely unproductive.

Tony gave up ten minutes later. He filed New York City under “probably empty, needs verifying” and then returned to the compound.

His first instinct upon entering (it was unlocked, thank God) was to check on Loki; his second was to just head straight to his lab and start figuring things out. Loki wasn't a child. There was no reason to check up on him. Still, Tony made his way down—quietly, casually. He didn't want to come off as pedantic. Hell, if Loki wasn't still where he'd last been, he'd just assume he was in his room and leave it. It didn't matter that much.

Tony took one step into the lounge and froze.

Loki was there, alright—sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, with a book face-down on his chest. One hand was still pressed against the cover and the other dangled loosely at his side, fingers brushing an empty mug on the floor. His breathing was so soft he could have been mistaken for dead. He looked peaceful enough.

Tony stared, mouth open, unsure how to react. Loki had somehow mustered enough trust to leave himself vulnerable and he wasn't even comfortable letting him touch his things. He didn't know what to feel. Guilt came to mind.

Slowly, he walked over and picked up the mug, careful not to disturb Loki as he did. Loki shifted suddenly and Tony held his breath, afraid he'd woken him, but he kept sleeping. Tony released the breath and placed the mug on the counter, then sat in the adjacent couch. He pulled out his phone and asked, one by one, if anyone had found success. There were various answers, but none of them were especially positive, save for one wildly uncertain hypothesis about a possible landing site—he'd have to check it out later, nevertheless. He sighed and set the phone down.

Loki shifted again. Tony glanced over, still expecting him to wake, but he remained in deep slumber. It was almost amusing how stubbornly he clung to sleep. Almost.

Tony hesitated a moment. Slowly, he leaned over and pulled the book from under Loki's hand. He flipped it over and skimmed the page, then closed it and placed it next to his phone. He looked at Loki again. The sleep twitches were still coming. They weren't too powerful, nor particularly frequent, but Tony couldn't help but worry somewhat. Still, he tried not to linger; instead, he stood and went to find something to eat.

Loki turned on his side, facing the backrest. Tony tried not to notice.

He opened the fridge and looked inside. The only worthwhile items were various condiments and someone's leftovers, and he didn't dare touch the latter. He sighed and closed the door, quietly, still overly careful not to wake Loki, and moved on to the pantries. There was rarely anything ready-to-eat in there, but it didn't hurt to check. He searched for a minute, found nothing, as expected, and then sighed and returned to the couch. There was no point staying. He could be in his lab right now, figuring out the details of his first priority, or his room, where there actually was food most of the time. But Loki—

Tony glanced at him again, expecting some movement, but nothing happened. He sighed and leaned back.

Several minutes passed in silence before Tony suddenly heard footsteps down the hall. He sat up just as Natasha turned the corner and promptly brought a finger to his lips. She stared, confused, then saw Loki and nodded.

“Anything?” Tony quietly asked.

“Nothing so far,” she answered, just as softly. “Thor's got some ideas, but—”

“Right.”

Natasha took another look at Loki. “How long has he been like that?”

“I just got here,” Tony said, shrugging. “Probably not long.”

Loki kicked out with one foot.

“Nightmare?” Natasha asked, sparing a frown.

“Dunno. He's been doing that a lot, but he's not freaking out or anything. Doesn't look like it, anyway.” Tony paused, briefly lost in thought. “I was going to ask him for help with something. I don't want to wake him up, though. He's been through a lot. Rest is always good.”

She gave a vague look akin to raising an eyebrow. “You're not uncomfortable around him?”

“No, I am, don't get me wrong.” He shook his head. “I almost had a panic attack the other day just sitting in the same room. I guess... I guess I just pity him is all.”

Natasha didn't respond to that.

It was then that Pepper walked in. They both shushed her preemptively, same as Tony had, making sure she was aware of Loki's sleeping before she spoke. She glanced at him, surprised, then looked back up and quietly relayed, “Thor says hi.”

“How's the kid?” Tony asked.

“Talkative would be an understatement.”

“Yeah?” A split-second grin crossed his face. “Tell me all about it.”

He stood, only for Natasha to shoot him an indignant glare and say, “Don't leave me with him.”

“Loki's harmless,” Tony calmly responded, standing; as if to emphasize his sentence, Loki quirked onto his back again, loosening what little remained of his updo and sending a few strands across his cheek. Some of the hairs dipped into his mouth. “Just a few minutes. I don’t want to keep whispering.”

Natasha held the glare another moment, then sighed and sat where Tony had just been. Her gaze went firmly to Loki and didn’t waver as Tony and Pepper stepped out of the room.

She watched for movement. Waited. Loki remained utterly still this time, as if he knew she was expecting something. He didn't so much as twitch. Natasha relaxed slightly, but didn't look away. She kept watching for a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Loki didn't move. He did, however, start breathing just a little quicker than he was before. It wasn't sudden; she wouldn't have even noticed if she wasn't looking so intently. But the difference was there.

She waited for him to calm down. He didn't. She waited longer, hoping it would die on its own. Seconds passed with no change. At twenty, Loki shifted back onto his side, clearing the hair from his face and bunching his armour at the shoulders. His breaths turned to half-whimpers. He started muttering. The language was foreign; other than it sounded vaguely Scandinavian, there was no making heads or tails of the whispers. Some of the words were repeats—Natasha memorized those quickly. The rest was lost on her.

She suddenly understood what Tony had meant when he said he pitied Loki.

Slowly, Natasha leaned in and gave him a gentle nudge. He quieted immediately. She sat there a little longer, still thinking the panic would return, but it looked to her he'd settled for good this time, and she sighed and drew back.

Another minute passed; Loki remained perfectly still. Natasha stood and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh I love pain :)
> 
> also I'm still violently revising things so if you're a new reader (I've gotten a bunch lately) get ready for Frequent Retconning Hell! it's usually just rewords and additional/modified descriptions, but I've been going through the file and finding tons of inconsistencies and things that definitely don't work in hindsight so be prepared for a big fat changelog in the notes next chapter


	26. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wakes from his nap and finds there's nothing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so I'm an actual dumbass I just went back and checked some canon and turns out loki has actually teleported in the movies and doesn't seem to have any difficulty with that at all so I just retconned that for nothing! the good news is I never followed through when I said I would edit everything to fit so I actually don't have to change anything lmao, I'd just like to clarify that:
> 
> \- loki has no problems at all teleporting short-distance and I'm a fool
> 
> so that's been..... re-retconned. if you're writing fanfiction, please do your research and don't go "weh weh my hyperfixation I can't look at this stuff without getting so excited I can't function" because otherwise shit like this happens and it's not fun lol
> 
> more changes:
> 
> \- all of the flashbacks have had grammar, wording, and general form tweaks, and should be up to 120% more flashbackier than before  
> \- the tone in the flashbacks has also changed! before they were like "join us or we'll torture you" and now it's still "join us or we'll torture you" but there's ALSO intermittent "we're just trying to help you" and "we're getting the Evil Nasty Asgard Thoughts out uwu" and it's basically way more cult-like than it previously was, because let's face it, the black order is a cult  
> \- there's a brief bit in chapter 11 (the thanos gets rekt chapter) right after loki calms down where 1. loki mentions his promise on the statesman that everything would be fine and 2. after loki collapses into his arms thor wraps one arm around loki and they actually hug because they deserve it  
> \- additional wording fixes throughout the story
> 
> those are the only major things and I basically just wrote a big tl;dr so you'll be fine if you don't want to read back (I know I wouldn't lmao)
> 
> anyway have a chapter! it's barely edited and weirdly long for some reason again like I'm not sure where all this text came from it just happened

Loki awoke feeling like he'd stepped out of one dream and into another, dazed, numb, no sense of anything beyond his own body. He didn't remember falling asleep, or where he'd done so; the ceiling was unfamiliar. He blinked a few times and swallowed the dryness out of his mouth, then rolled into a sitting position. His hair fell directly into his eyes when he did. He blinked again, swept it away with one hand, and awkwardly held it in place as he oriented himself.

The memories took a moment to return, and he blushed wildly. The book he'd been reading was placed firmly on the coffee table and the empty mug wasn't on the floor—said coffee table had been out of arm's reach—which told him someone had come by at some point. He grew even hotter at the thought. Who had seen him?

Loki stood uncertainly and finger-combed the rest of his hair out of his face. Between the once again untamed curls were numerous odd creases and tangles, as well as a respectable amount of frizz. He spent a few seconds smoothing strands and picking out knots, cursing the fabric he'd slept on, and then he realized with a jolt of panic that he was shedding little flakes and and it probably wasn't all that cotton-polyester blend's fault as he'd hoped. He promptly withdrew his hand and glazed it green with a spell, then pressed it to his chest. There was a buzz, goosebumps on his head—his entire body; he might as well—and then nothing. He brushed at his hair again. There was no residue this time. Satisfied, he finished tucking it behind his ears, then walked away from the couch.

He gazed down the rest of the lounge. Empty again, as expected; everyone was too busy playing search-and-rescue or whatever else to relax much. Meanwhile, here he was, sleeping on their furniture like he owned the place—and someone had seen him, of course they had. Picked up his trash, too. At least they were considerate. He wandered quietly through the rest of the room, unsure where to go. The book was interesting, but he wasn't especially keen on continuing it right then; his mind was still too fogged up, anyway. Magic was... well, he could go practice something in his room. All the exhaustion had faded days ago. There wasn't really any point, though. A clock, he needed a clock—first priority. He needed to find out what time it was.

Loki sat in a random chair at a random table. He peered down the hall, saw nothing, then looked the other way. A simple white analog hung on the wall. 4:32, it read. He gaped. It was somewhere around noon when he sat down to read, and he'd fallen asleep when, he didn't know, but it must have been shortly after if he was this out of it. He stared another moment, then stood. Paced. Returned to the kitchen, sat in the same couch, and sighed.

For the first time in a very long while, Loki felt truly, maddeningly bored.

He sighed again and sank deeper into the cushions, pondering his options. Specifically, he wondered whether or not he actually wanted to try and keep reading through the brain fog/boredom (he didn't), and what else he could do if not that. Thor was probably still out; Loki might have spared a bicker or two with him otherwise—or a spar, or whatever he usually did when he didn't know what to do. Nothing was coming. He stood and circled the coffee table, face scrunched, then turned and made for the dorms.

Loki found his room and quietly entered, not bothering to close the door. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was as forlorn as before. He stared, lost in thought again, then reached into his holding space. One by one, he pulled out all the food he'd bought earlier and placed it neatly on the top shelf. There wasn't much—just two jars of pickled fish (which Tony still hadn't tried) and one jar of strawberry-currant jam. It seemed silly to be clogging up his pockets with them, though. With that in mind, he also brought out an Asgardian vintage he'd been keeping longer than he even remembered. It was holding up fine by the looks of it, but even wine didn't last forever; he'd have to do something with it sometime soon.

Loki frowned and closed the fridge. He stood there a moment, then glanced at the sink. His mouth still felt awfully dry. Maybe he could—

No, he wasn't that thirsty.

Loki sighed and slipped back into the hallway, stopping in front of Tony's room. He knocked a few times and waited for an answer. None came. Another frown crossed his face, bunching his brows up a little. He stared another several seconds, still frowning, then continued down the hall.

The door to Tony's lab was open. Loki quietly stepped inside and saw him reclined in a rolling chair and fiddling with a disembodied Iron Man helmet. He was wearing simple grey sweatpants and a tank top, curiously unlike his regular outfit—always something battle-ready, same as Loki, who practically lived in his armour at this point. There was also a distinct lack of music in the room.

Loki settled against a table a few metres away and watched him absentmindedly. A few seconds passed in silence; Tony glanced up. “Sleeping Beauty has finally awoken,” he said, cracking a smile. “How was your nap?”

“Why didn't you wake me?”

“Didn't know how you would react.” He poked at a panel on the side, frowned, then added, “I've had people flip out on me before, so I kinda figured it was best to just let you rest.”

Loki drew back from the table and asked, “Who saw?”

Tony hesitated slightly. “Just me. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Fair enough.” He pried a shard of metal off the side of the helm and stared wide-eyed as it made a wide arch in the air, then landed squarely in front of Loki's feet with a dull clatter. “I didn't mean to do that,” he said, hand frozen in place. “Definitely did not mean to do that. Wow, that's some trajectory.”

“Right,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. He bent down and took the piece, then set it on the desk Tony was sitting at. “What exactly are you trying to do, then?”

“I'm trying”—he wheeled himself to the opposite table—“to fix the world's most stubborn short circuit.”

“It's not something I did, is it?”

“Oh, no.” Tony waved his free hand dismissively. “It's been doing weird shit since Titan. Something with the targeting system. It's not really urgent, but you know—better to deal with it now than when it's actually a problem. Can you hand me that screwdriver?” he asked, pointing to the floor.

Loki raised an eyebrow, then bent and picked it up as well. He handed it to Tony with a dim, dry smile. “I'm not your servant.”

“I know,” Tony said, gazing up at him. “I'm allowed to ask favours of people while they're in here.”

“How's Asgard?”

“Lost. Speaking of—I actually hate to have to ask this, whatever—I was going to ask if you could do whatever you did with this suit on that computer right over there.” He pointed at the array of monitors behind Loki. “Same thing, bigger scale. It'll be way more efficient.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder. “Correct me if I'm wrong,” he said, facing Tony again, “but can't you just transfer the existing data?”

“Yeah, usually. Your magic just does not want to do that properly.”

“Magic is just science you don't understand.”

“You know, Thor said the same thing once.” Tony set the helmet down and leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on his knees. “Funny story, though, it's really not.”

Loki smiled again. “Too many extra steps?”

“Uh, yeah, _way_ too many extra steps. You're trying to compare a triangle to like, a Klein bottle.”

“A what?”

“Exactly. So here's what I want you to do.” Tony kicked at the table leg, propelling himself back to where the computer sat. “I'm gonna set up a global scan—same thing I did with you when you, uh, ran away—and you're gonna help with the criteria.” He glanced at Loki. “You're cool with that, right?”

“I've got nothing better to do,” Loki said, walking over. He sat on the edge of the desk, next to the keyboard. “Why do you only have one chair in here?”

“Uh, because it's my lab?”

“Right.”

Tony cleared his throat and typed a long string of seemingly random keystrokes, bringing up a series of maps and grids. Beside them was an empty text box titled “Search Criteria”. Loki turned to look at them.

“You know what you're doing,” Tony asked, “right?”

“Of course.” Loki stood. “Get off,” he said, pressing a hand to the chair's armrest. “I'm not giving myself a spinal injury because of your poor planning.”

Tony snorted and left the seat.

Loki sat cross-legged and looked at the screens, at the keyboard, and at the screens again. He squinted slightly, then brought a faint green glow to his fingertips and rested them on the keys. He closed his eyes and let the magic guide him through the system, weaving through all the little bits of software he did and didn't understand. Satellites; Tony used satellites. That part was easy. They were sorely lacking compared to the suit, but they had the same adaptive scanning technology—partially, at least. Loki opened his eyes and stared at the box. Squinted slightly. The technology was there. The technology was definitely there.

He flicked his wrist. Several of the maps went dark, overlaid with a blinking “Offline”, before winking back into visibility a few seconds later. Loki pressed his hand to his cheek and eyed them uncertainly.

“Everything good?” Tony asked.

“Hold on,” Loki said, still staring at the screen. “I should be able to make this work. Give me a minute.”

Tony nodded.

Loki brought his hand back to the keyboard with a sigh and imagined the Æsir form. He went over each nuance, each large and small detail of their anatomy, down to the trivial differences he never even noticed and only knew because the books taught about them. Then he finalized the spell and watched a point appear in the box. More followed it, slowly ghosting themselves into being on command of Loki's description. The most obvious traits were first; the odder ones would appear farther down the list, assuming all went well. He leaned back in the chair and observed the growing text.

Tony came up behind him with a curious expression. His eyes fell on the density marker Loki had set: a multiplier of a little over three-hundred percent in relation to humans. “They can't be that heavy,” he said, brows furrowing in disbelief. “That's ridiculous.”

Loki shook his head. “They're much heavier than they look. Haven't you noticed?”

“I mean, it never really came up,” Tony admitted with a shrug. He glanced at Loki and asked, “Is it just Asgardians?”

“Æsir,” he calmly corrected. “You mean Æsir. And no, there are others.”

“You?”

Loki shifted in the chair, causing it to creak loudly. “I'm pretty close,” he said. “Give or take a few hundred pounds. I don't remember the exacts.”

Tony looked back up at the screen. “You can't scan things like that.”

“It's not rejecting them,” Loki noted, following his gaze. “I have failsafes on my spells, and none of them are going off, so I'm inclined to say yes, you can absolutely scan things like that.”

“ _Chromosomes,_ Lokes? Seriously?”

“I did the same thing before. It worked fine.”

The text flickered. Loki sighed and pressed his hands to the keyboard again, briefly shrouding it in green. He watched the letters shift, cycle between various languages, and then settle again. The sentences resumed their formation.

“Still good?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I know what I'm doing.”

The next line finished typing itself out. Nothing followed it. Loki skimmed through the list, making sure nothing was missed, and then slowly stood.

“That's it?”

“It should be.” Loki paused. “You owe me for this.”

“Yeah, I expected that,” Tony said, sighing. He sat in the chair and confirmed the new criteria, added the location—everywhere on Earth—and then started the scan. Sighed again. “Thanks, though. I really appreciate it.”

“How long will this take?”

“A day if we're lucky. I'd give it several.” Tony rolled back to the helmet. “I'll leave it running and see what happens,” he said, picking it up. “What about you? What's up?”

“I'm fine. A little bored,” Loki admitted after a moment, “but I'm fine. I'll go finish that book.”

“Spider kid came by earlier,” Tony said, looking up. “He's still worried. I told him you were good, but he kinda wants to see for himself, you know?”

“That's sweet of him.”

“Will you talk to him? Seeing him worry makes me worry and... you understand. He should still be in his room—set up some video games and dragged Pepper and Nat into it. Sam too, I think.”

“I'll stop by,” Loki said, nodding faintly. He glanced at the helm. “Good luck with that.”

Tony managed a smile. “Thanks, Lokes,” he said, then returned to poking wires as if nothing had ever happened.

Loki took another look at the screen. Various progress bars had appeared beside the maps, some racing along and others barely moving. It was certainly slow-going, but the spell had worked flawlessly from what he could tell. That was all he needed to know.

He quietly turned and left the room.

 


	27. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki visits Peter and things begin to look up, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had typed three full-length paragraphs in here forever ago (and by forever ago, I mean back when it was only a month between the previous chapter and this) listing why this took so long but they ended up being ridiculously ranty and detailed so here's the nutshell version:
> 
> \- my focus is horrendous  
> \- my perfectionism, which is so bad that I'm often literally unable to start something, is back (I had to revise these notes like twenty times alone, it's Bad)  
> \- it's pretty much just those two  
> \- also I keep violently comparing myself to others which has caused me disproportionately severe distress regarding my writing/writing skill/life in general  
> \- seriously my anxiety is responsible for everything lmao  
> \- I'm working on it but yeah
> 
> and while trying to write this I also wrote and revised a ton of other things so here's the changelog:
> 
> \- chapters 1-7, 10, 11 and 19 have been hugely edited for detail and general enjoyability (especially 3 and 19)  
> \- minor additions and fixes everywhere else  
> \- loki is approximately 38% more reluctant to call the torture torture because he's in denial  
> \- tony doesn't mysteriously already know doctor strange before even meeting him, wow that was a glaring plothole, how did no one (including me) notice that  
> \- kip (from chapter 2) now uses they pronouns lol  
> \- added loki & peter as a relationship because yeah  
> \- added some retroactive scene breaks where necessary + some here + some chapters may possibly be linked at some point (including this one and 26 possibly) (who knows)
> 
> it's not the best but it's taken me three months just to write this and if I edit it I'm pretty sure I won't be able to post it until like 2023 so here. I couldn't stop smiling throughout the chapter and hopefully y'all won't be able to either and it'll be at least somewhat worth the wait lol

The hazy, half-asleep feeling didn't waver. It lingered on the way to the dorms, as if Loki was still dozing on the couch and might wake up for real if he let himself—as if the world might simply wink itself away.

He drifted, barely conscious of his own feet and absentmindedly trailing a hand across the walls he passed. He wondered what he'd done to call the fog. It always came for a reason: when he was overwhelmed, when he was stricken with some unbearable shock, when he was so anxious he couldn't breathe—trapped him deep inside his head so whatever he was facing couldn't affect him. There was no fear to calm this time. Odd, but not unheard of; only inconvenient.

Ignoring it was pointless, of course, so he didn't. He accepted its presence and left it at that.

He turned the corner and tried to remember which room was Peter's. Third door—which side, he didn't know. He made for the right door

_(wrong one)_

and then froze, fingers on the handle, heart suddenly pounding, and stepped back. He tried the left; it was unlocked. He eased it open and quietly entered.

There was a console haphazardly wired to the TV and a game on the screen, as promised. The group had settled in assorted postures on the couch, with Peter perched knees-up in the far left end. He spared only a split-second glance over his shoulder as Loki walked to join him. “Hey!”

“Hi,” Loki said, sitting on the couch arm. “Are you winning?”

“Nope,” Sam answered. “I'm kicking his ass.”

“Yeah, because you blue-shelled me,” Peter shot. He sighed and glanced up again. “It's this—it slows down whoever's in first place.”

“Oh.” Loki turned to look at the other two. Pepper didn't notice him. Natasha, on the other hand, gave a terse, polite nod; it seemed almost forced. He hesitated, then returned the gesture. “How have you been, Peter?”

“Uh, good, thanks. You?”

Loki shrugged.

“That's… good.” Peter blushed and pressed himself deeper into the couch. “Oh, jeez.”

“Don't worry. No one ever has an actual answer for those. So, _Romanoff._ ” Loki tilted his head forward to look at her. “I can understand these three, but you? You don't exactly scream fun.”

“Puppy eyes,” Pepper said, snickering. “Even she isn't immune. What about you?”

“I got bored.”

“You got bored?”

Loki shrugged again, which was apparently a sufficient answer. He brought a leg up for stability, crossed at the ankle, and then leaned back to watch. It took a few seconds to figure out which quadrant was Peter's; once he did, he kept track of it for the short remainder of the round, only occasionally checking the rest.

Peter claimed first place just as they reached the finish line. Sam stared, tried—failed—to utter a complaint, and then threw his controller. Loki stopped its motion with a flick of his wrist. He held it in the air for a moment before floating it to its owner once more, a manic grin on his face the entire time. “Be more careful.”

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched it from the air. “Shut up.”

“Hey, he's right,” Peter said. “Don't break my things, please.”

“I won't let him,” Loki assured, wriggling his fingers for emphasis. “I've got quick reflexes.”

“Yeah, so what was that?” Peter asked.

“Telekinesis.”

Peter gaped. “Seriously?”

“Oh, don't look so surprised. You've seen me shapeshift.”

“You can shapeshift?” Sam said, incredulous.

“I can do all sorts of things,” Loki responded. “And you know, that reminds me: I still don't know your name.”

“Sam. Hi.”

“Hello, Sam.” Loki smiled.

They returned their attention to the screen, where Peter was scrolling through the courses. He paused at one, heard a loud protest from Sam, and than sighed and picked another. “Mr. Stark sent you?” he asked.

“He did,” Loki answered. “Why?”

“I was just curious. He, um—yeah, I came by earlier, but I guess you were busy. I was… worried about you.”

“I heard.” Peter was about to speak when Loki continued, “Don't be. I really appreciate it, and thank you, but don't worry about me. I'm not that weak.”

“I know,” Peter said, brows creeping together. “I just don't want you to have to—”

_(fight it)_

“These things happen,” Loki softly explained. His voice almost broke on the last word and he swallowed hard, thinking, how ironic; how bloody ironic. He calmed himself and said, “Don't dwell on them.”

Peter adjusted his hold on the controller and started the round.

They played no CPUs and bikes only, with Peter clearly taking advantage of the latter. He swerved and skidded through much of the track, climbing along each and every unbeaten path he found. Whenever someone passed him, he passed them right back—mostly Sam, sometimes Natasha.

Sam was seconds from the line when Peter did precisely that, just like the previous round. This time, he stood, tossed the controller into the couch crevices, and trudged off to the bed. “That's it,” he said, collapsing on the edge. “I'm out.”

“You're no fun,” Peter called over his shoulder.

“How do you keep doing that?”

“Magic?”

Loki snickered.

“Hey,” Peter said to him, “why don't you play?”

“Does he even know what a video game is?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“What do I look like?” Loki said.

“A demigod with a leather kink, I guess, but that doesn't really tell me anything.”

“You know there are children here, right?”

“I didn't hear anything,” Peter said.

“He didn't hear anything,” Sam repeated.

“So he didn't.” Loki paused. “Well, to answer your question—I've been around enough. You see things.”

“Thor's been around, hasn't he? And he doesn't know _anything._ ”

“He's the boring one.”

Sam seemed to accept that.

Peter grabbed the controller and handed it over, pointing at various buttons and describing what they did. He went slow, slower than necessary, but Loki didn't mind. Once everything was covered, they leaned back, grinned at each other, and turned to look at the screen.

“I'm gonna beat you,” Peter said as he selected a course.

“Try,” Loki smugly responded.

“So I guess that means you don't want _easy mode_ or anything like that.”

“You would be correct.”

Peter loaded up an ice track, positioned and repositioned his thumbs on the controller, and released a long, low breath. “I'm playing Mario Kart with Loki,” he said to himself, nearly shaking with giddy disbelief. “This,” he went on, “is the weirdest day ever.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Loki said, smiling.

Peter didn't bother responding, knowing that if he did, it would probably be incoherent, anyway. He tapped through to the countdown, waited with the same broad expression as Loki for the numbers to hit “Go!” and then off they went.

Loki, as Peter discovered, really was the quick learner he'd always known himself to be. Combined with his lifelong love for games and a constant urge to best others, it wasn't surprising that he passed all three of them within seconds.

Halfway through the final lap, Peter sped into first place, as usual, and it almost looked like he was going to win again—then Loki was in front of him just as rapidly, taking the finish line with a triumphant, “Ha!”

Peter's jaw dropped. Behind them, Sam fell into hysterics; the rest of the room was similarly amused.

“Okay,” Sam managed between laughter, “maybe you _do_ know what you're doing.”

“That was a fluke!” Peter said, glaring up at him. His voice had the same humour, though, which only made them laugh harder. Loki was the only one with some restraint.

“Round two,” he offered, nudging Peter. “You can't prove it was a fluke without a second attempt.”

“Oh, I'm gonna kick your butt,” Peter shot back, and Sam's laughing turned into passionate wheezing.

The new pressure to win meant liberal ramming and use of items on Peter and Loki's part, doing whatever they could to slow both themselves and the other two players. Natasha and Pepper stumbled a full lap early on, nulling the latter concern and leaving them free to wreak havoc on each other.

Following a series of tricks throughout the course, it seemed Peter was going to win, with him sluing into first shortly before the finish line, but he relaxed moments too soon. Loki knocked him off the track and casually claimed the victory with another self-satisfied giggle.

“Horrible,” Peter said, gaping at the tally. “Terrible. I refuse to accept that. Luck can't hold you forever, Loki. I will _destroy_ you.”

“Whatever you say, spider.”

The rounds progressed as such, with the two teetering between first and second. Peter consistently and repeatedly bolted forward, and at the end of each track, Loki did the same, stealing wins last-moment in a manner all too familiar to the others. Sam called this karma, a statement agreed upon by everyone except for—of course—Peter, who was still taking the game with a clearly lighthearted but intense drama.

Natasha left at the fifth round; Pepper, at the sixth. Their absence only escalated the onscreen antics, which everyone continued to laugh at with the same vigour.

By the eighth round, Peter had amassed two wins, and he insisted this was proof enough. Loki nodded along with an obviously unconvinced smile.

“Alright, pass me the controller,” Sam said, plopping into his prior seat. “Two against one, Loki. You're going down.”

Loki's response, again, was a simple, “Try.”

Round nine wasn't much different. By the end of the final lap, though, after multiple delays and detours between the three of them, Sam dashed into first, and Loki was about to counter the move when Peter blew them both off the track—and just like that, Sam won.

The ensuing silence dragged on for a moment before Loki turned to Peter and said, “So was that your heroic sacrifice?”

“Maybe,” Peter answered. He stretched, yawned, and then asked, “Do you want to keep playing?”

“I'm fine either way. Sam?”

He shook his head. “You two can keep going. I'm gonna go out.”

“You just needed that one victory to sate you,” Loki said, chuckling. “Is that it?”

Sam matched the chuckle. “Could be. Anyway”—he stood—“have fun. Don't hog the wins, both of you.”

“We'll try,” Peter said. “Bye, Sam.”

“Bye, Pete,” he responded as he opened the door and left.

A second passed.

“Alright,” Pepper said, crawling out of her seat, “I think I'm going to go too.”

“Aw. That was nice, though.” Peter smiled up at her. “Thanks.” He paused. “Nat?”

“I don't have anything urgent,” she said, “but…”

“You don't have to stay if you don't want to.”

She nodded. “Yeah—have fun.”

They exited together, leaving Peter and Loki alone on the couch. Loki moved to one of the freed cushions, made himself comfortable, and watched as Peter removed Sam from the roster and started a Grand Prix—CPUs on this time.

“Thanks for being here,” Peter said, not looking away from the screen.

“I'm happy to join you,” Loki responded—and he was; he truly was. For the first time in months, he could say that he was content and it wouldn't be a lie.

⸎

 

Peter and Loki played for another forty-odd minutes and half of a fresh tourney before Tony walked in.

“Oh, no way,” he said, stifling a laugh. “I can't believe you roped him into this.”

“He didn't _rope me_ into anything,” Loki said.

“No? Huh.” Tony wandered over to where they were sitting, coming to rest against the side of the backrest. “Who's winning?”

“Undecided,” Peter said.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Tony asked.

“Uh, yeah”—Peter jerked the controller—“I think so.”

“We were going to order some Chinese. That's cool with you, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Loki?”

“No wheat,” he reminded, “but other than that, sure.”

“Yeah, I was going to get rice noodles, actually. You're good. So,” Tony continued to both of them, “how about you finish that round and come down? I need to do a headcount, anyway.”

“Alright,” Peter said.

Tony nodded and left the room.

The round ended roughly two minutes later, with Peter in second, just a hair's breadth from first, and Loki in fourth. They lowered their controllers, shook hands—dramatic as ever—and then made their way to the lounge.

Pepper was cross-legged at one of the tables; next to her, Tony was intently leafing through a menu and suggesting combos. He looked up once as they gravitated to the couch there, where Sam was sprawled in the corner and skimming something on his phone, and then went back to reading off foods.

“Okay, so that's nine,” he said, “plus Thor, I guess—he's still out, but he might come in, and plus maybe… two more? Just in case.”

“Food for eleven, got it.”

“So we're thinking”—Tony glanced at Peter and Loki—“all the staples, basically. A bunch of fried rice, noodles, veggies, like, a ton of veggies, because it's not healthy otherwise—”

“It's Chinese takeout,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, what's your point?”

Sam, Peter, and Loki all laughed, while Tony remained comically serious in his expression.

“Fine,” Pepper said. “I will get a very large quantity of vegetables to counteract the fact that it's not, as you want to believe, healthy.”

“You're getting rice noodles, right?”

“Yes, I'm getting rice noodles. Why are you so obsessed with that?”

“Loki can't have gluten.”

“He can't—are you serious?”

“It makes me vomit,” Loki deadpanned; beside him, Peter's mouth fell open in surprise.

“Jeez, that's worse than I thought,” Tony said. “I thought it was like… mild.”

“Sometimes. It depends on how much I eat and if I've eaten anything else beforehand.”

“So it's even more important that they don't mess up the order. Hear that, Pep?”

“ _Yes,_ Tony.” Pepper heaved an overdramatic sigh. “No gluten and lots of vegetables.”

“And spring rolls and sweet and sour pork,” Tony added.

“Mhm.”

“Okay, does anyone want anything? Sherbet, bubble tea?”

“Oh—do they have strawberry bubble tea?” Peter asked.

Tony peered at the menu. “Yep,” he answered, looking up. “So you're getting that?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, anything else? Going once.” Tony waited. “Going twice.” Waited again. “No one? Cool.”

Pepper took out her phone and dialed the restaurant. She recited the order extra carefully, with Tony listening closely for any mistakes—especially in respect to the gluten exception. Peter listened along, while Sam focused on his own cell.

Loki, then, was the first to notice Steve mouse into the room. They locked eyes instantly.

Tony was the second to catch sight of him, and he acknowledged the newcomer with a tense, apologetic, and entirely joyless smile before returning to his verification of the order. Peter clammed up on the spot, while Sam, for better or for worse, was still occupied.

Reluctantly, Loki stood and walked over. “Hi,” he said.

Steve considered him, a faint, indecipherable look on his face. “Hi.”

Tony seemed like he wanted to protest, but he held back. Loki glanced at him, then at Steve, and quietly continued, “I'm sorry.”

Steve didn't answer.

“I wanted to ask…” Loki paused, running through the words. “I could clear those memories if you let me. You don't deserve them.”

Steve pondered this. He strolled into the kitchen and settled by the sink, unspeaking, with Loki at his side and Peter anxiously observing them both. His response came almost a minute later: “I can't trust you, can I?”

“No,” Loki admitted, “not really.”

Steve nodded to himself. “Alright.”

“Is that—”

“A yes? Yeah. Go ahead.”

“I need to locate them,” Loki warned. “I'll try not to stray too much, but—”

“Go ahead.”

Loki gave him the same uneasy smile Tony had, closed the distance between them, and pressed a hand to his forehead.

The memories didn't hurt; they were only memories now, nothing more and nothing less. As Loki dug through them, though—

Thanos, and the blood, and the broken bones—

and the yelling; gods, the yelling—

he couldn't help but feel a flit of panic in his chest. He breathed in, one, two, three, and breathed out, one, two, three, and gathered each piece that didn't fit. A knife through his torso, splitting the muscles, tendons, skin, gifting him with a horizontal slit from front to back. Gone—not from his own mind, never from his own, but from Steve's. The wild rage with which Thanos had spoken to him, hearing something he didn't like, and the way he'd struck him until he couldn't move; gone. His pale, haggard form in the mirror, riddled with unhealed wounds and recent scars, and how loosely his armour had enveloped him, not quite visible to the eye but palpable with every twitch; gone. He made sure everything was gone, then stepped back, smudged the tears from his face—

fuck, he was crying again—

and quiveringly asked, “What do you remember?”

Steve closed his eyes and searched. “Nothing,” he said, looking up at him. “I remember… it was awful. That's it.”

“Alright,” Loki murmured, “alright, that's good, I'm—I'm glad.” One two three. He rubbed at his cheeks, sniffed, and sank into the couch. Tony sent him a questioning frown, to which he replied with a weary thumbs-up.

“Okay,” Pepper said, stuffing her phone into her pocket. “That should be thirty minutes. If anyone wants to do anything in the meantime…”

Tony got out of his seat. “I'm gonna go collect everyone,” he said, heading for the exit. “I haven't forgotten about that, Lokes.”

Loki stared after him, confused, then uttered a tiny, “Oh.”

“You good?” Peter asked.

“Fine.”

“Do you want to go finish the race?”

Loki shrugged.

Steve sat next to them, avoiding Sam's unevenly splayed legs, and said, “Thanks.”

“I owed you that,” Loki said.

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

Peter stood, saying, “I'm gonna go turn that off if we're not going to play anymore.” Loki distractedly waved him goodbye.

“You were angry,” Steve said. “I mean”—he ran a hand through his hair—“it wasn't exactly justified, but…”

“It was a little justified.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I'm sorry too. I can't forgive you completely and I'm sorry about _that,_ but you can't blame me.” Loki confirmed this with a curt nod. “But,” Steve continued, “I get it. And yeah, I don't really trust you, either, but I can try. You've grown. You're not that person I fought.”

Loki smiled, a warm, honest smile this time, and asked, “Is this a second chance?”

“Don't waste it.”

“Alright, um—let's start over. Hi, I'm Loki.” He stuck out a hand. “I like long walks by myself, the colour green, and I don't want to take over the world.”

“Hi, Loki.” Steve clasped his hand, just excessively firm enough to convey the message, and shook it once. “I'm Steve Rogers. I like… patriotism.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.”

“Likewise.”

Behind his phone, Sam cackled. “Patriotism,” he mimicked. “What a Captain America thing to say.”

“At least they made up,” Pepper said.

“Did they?”

“I think we did,” Loki said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah, we did. For now.”

Loki snorted. “Don't be so pessimistic.”

“It's optimistic pessimism.”

“Whatever you say.”

Steve got up then, sparing another look at him before moving to one of the empty tables, across from Pepper. Loki sighed and reached for his book. He reclined in his corner of the couch not unlike Sam, flipped through to roughly the page he'd stopped at, and tried to read.

 

By the time the thirty minutes had gone, most everyone had trickled into the room and found a seat. Tony was the last one in, flanked by Peter, who had a backpack slung over his shoulder. Tony sat with Pepper, as expected; Loki, upon finishing the paragraph and setting the book aside, went with Peter. Thor didn't show.

Tony would have stated the rules word-for-word—he wanted to, shits and all—but paraphrasing seemed more effective. After they split the food, after everyone was too busy eating to interject, and with little announcement, he abruptly said, “The past is always there. We can't change that. If we're going to make this work, though— _this_ ”—he gestured to the group—“I want one thing to be clear: the past does not define us. Whatever anyone here has done, whatever has happened to anyone here, crimes or trauma or whatever else, I don't want it to be held against that person. If it's that important, it'll be dealt with calmly and without bias, and then we carry on.”

Loki smiled at him; so did Bucky, unsurprisingly.

Tony waited for an argument, but there was none. “Good,” he said, and resumed eating just as abruptly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we stan a comic relief chapter with serious undertones


	28. Methods for the Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes a mental health day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed 90% of this in like two days and then got stuck deciding whether or not to elaborate what happens after a certain part and decided yeah I'm gonna elaborate and it took me another four days to do those paragraphs because I got super mega sick and super mega busy and didn't have the time or energy to write and then I was panicking about what direction I want to take this and if I want to make [totally awesome secret epic plotline] part of this or a separate story in a series and idk what else but bro. six days after whatever the heck was going on with the previous chapter is pretty great lmao
> 
> ~~also I only proofread this like three times max so it might be a little wonky~~

Loki awoke the next morning aware of three things. One: the dream feeling was still there. It was weaker than yesterday and his focus had definitely returned, but he still felt very much detached from his surroundings, himself, and reality in general. Past experience told him that if it hadn't died by now, it would drag on for at least another week, and at most, months; hopefully, he'd have the former. Two: he didn't have a scrap of the required willpower to leave the building, which resigned him to reading, exploring the premises, or practicing spells. If he was being honest, though, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, because three: he was _exhausted._ However long he'd slept, the dull nausea and dizziness pounding away at him was characteristic of three, maybe four hours, and he was sure that if he closed his eyes again, he'd be out in seconds. Nevertheless, he untangled himself from the sheets and crawled out of bed, one limb at a time.

There were leftovers in the fridge and yesterday's book on the table, and his magic could be taken wherever, so it wasn't like he had to leave the room—but he left anyway. He didn't bother with his appearance past finger-combing his hair.

The lounge was empty. He looked around, yawned halfway through his once-over, long and heavy, and then inspected the clock down the hall. Eleven-fifty-some, it showed, and he sighed and continued into the kitchen. Nothing out, nothing in the fridge there, and he didn't feel like preparing anything, so leftovers for breakfast it was. On the bright side, there was a decent measure of coffee still in the pot, and while he always found the caffeine content of most blends laughable at best, he figured it might help with the drowsiness; if nothing else, he could just enjoy the taste. After another yawn, he found a mug, set it firmly on the counter, and

_(one two three)_

tipped the pot's contents inside, slowly, soundlessly, and as precisely as he could. The mug was large enough that there was an inch to the rim when he'd poured them out, so he didn't have to worry about spilling. He steadied the pot, returned it to its dock, and placed his palm atop the edge of the ceramic. Microwaving was an option, but this was quicker: he sent a spark of heat magic through the liquid, warming it to somewhere between hot and tepid, and then moved his grip to the handle.

_(one two three one two—)_

Sugar would have been nice, as well as cream or substitutes thereof, but neither felt necessary that day. He lifted the mug and—

_(breathe)_

The fog in his brain surged. He did as instructed, three counts each way as he walked back, smoothly padding along on the tips of his boots and holding the mug stable through each step. Hallway ahead of him, leather armour, coffee in his hand. Lights humming. Muted city sounds from an open window. His own breathing: one, two, three, in and out. No pain.

Loki closed the door behind him, settled at the table, and took a few sips.

There wasn't much to practice, really. His shifting was fine, as was his teleporting, telekinesis, invisibility, and apparently, ice magic, which he wasn't exactly raving about. Fire was always fun, but the risk of casting anything indoors was slightly excessive, so he couldn't do that, either. That left any number of rarer spells, such as…

He stopped, mug to his lips, and peered at the ceiling. With a single, sharp intent, he visualized the electrical matrix, found the outlier, and broke in.

Recording: on.

“Hey, Tony,” Loki began, calm and even. He drank the rest of the coffee in one breath and placed the mug in front of him. “If you're listening to this, then you know I've made it so your AI can't function in my room. Sorry about that.” He paused, considering the words, the reactions. “You're probably wondering why,” he continued, standing with a clipped grunt. “I know you use FRIDAY to check on me, and I appreciate it—I do. I know there's concern at play, and that means a lot. But…”

He didn't think hard enough about this.

He strolled into the kitchen, retrieved last night's half-eaten, Tupperwared chow mein, and laid it on the counter. “But,” he said as he removed the lid, “I find it patronizing and a massive invasion of my privacy. You can't preach trust and change and then constantly be on guard like this. The main cameras are one thing; they're there, they're for everyone—it's just basic security. I understand that. Wiring a room because it belongs to _me,_ because it belongs to Loki and you're not sure what I might do when I'm alone, is another thing. You know this just as well as I do.”

He paused again, warming the food while he went over his next words. “There's nothing I _can_ do here,” he said, taking the container in one hand and reaching into the cutlery drawer with the other. “I suppose”—he grabbed a random fork—“you think I might do something to harm the Avengers, and I understand that, too. What would that look like, though?” He returned to his seat and set the food beside the mug. “Secret plans or some forbidden magic away from prying eyes, maybe, but if I wanted to do that, I could do it anywhere. You ought to know I can turn myself invisible. I—” He cut off with a sigh. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, pressing a finger to the bridge of his nose. “I'm rambling. What I'm trying to say, I think, is I'm not some—”

_(heart racing)_

The fork trembled in his grip.

_(breathe breathe breathe)_

“I'm not some prisoner here,” Loki finished, his voice suddenly distant, foreign. He closed his eyes, breathed in, out, and said, “If that truce really is still on, then you'll respect this. I won't harm you and you won't harm me, and if you need security in my bedroom to ascertain that, then maybe we need to reexamine our agreement. And by the way, don't try to override the magic; I doubt you'll find success. Talk to me if you have an issue, or otherwise, ignore it.”

End recording.

Loki addressed FRIDAY directly this time: “If Tony insults me after this message,” he began, gazing nowhere specific, “and I have the feeling he will, then would you please tell him—and only if he insults me first—he can bite my ass?”

Several seconds passed.

“Fine,” she said.

In spite of the fleeting panic in his chest, the sense that he was doing something terribly wrong, that something, anything would happen, a sliver of a grin darted across his lips. “Thank you.”

“I hope you're aware how unwise this is.”

Oh, was he ever.

“I am,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the mug. “He'll come after me at some point. I know he will. Until then…”

Loki raised his hand, located her once more, and formed a blockade around her entirety. Cameras, microphones, speakers. Gone. The technology was still there, perfectly untouched; in fact, and he was hoping this was the case, Tony wouldn't notice anything unless he searched. For now, Loki could relax—or at least, he could try.

He picked up the fork, thinking he should have kept the chopsticks, and started on his food.

There was something uncanny about eating alone, he realized between bites. It wasn't a new experience; he'd eaten alone many times before, and recently, too, with that pilfered salad holding fast as ever in his memories. What stuck out now was he usually only ate alone when something was wrong. Either he'd run away, gotten in trouble at home, or he was hurt, in the broadest definition possible, and unless he counted sitting under one roof with the Avengers as captivity, the slightly less common fourth point in that list, there was nothing. Everything was fine—well, except for the part where he was eating Chinese with a fork, because he was exactly the kind of pretentious twat who'd find issue in that; he stopped to guffaw at himself before resuming his meal.

As he scraped at the corners, shovelling the last noodles onto the flat of the prongs, his mind wandered elsewhere: he missed Peter.

It wasn't quite a full-fledged yearning so much as he merely wanted more time with him, more time just whittling away the gloom, the fear. There was something special in the way Peter treated him; he looked at him with awe, wonder, some profound sense of childish love, and Norns knew, Loki missed that. He was bored out of his wits and Peter helped with the boredom, but he also helped with that panic and misery and what else, and thus, short of maybe murder, Loki would do anything to stay at his side more often.

Not that he could say it aloud.

That want was as pathetic as the fear itself, the old memories scratching at his mind, the _everything._ Who was he to care so much about some silly mortal he'd met just days ago? Peter was a good person, an even better friend—were they friends?—but at the end of the day, he was nothing. He was a regular human, no more, no less, as bittersweet as it felt to think that.

Pathetic.

Loki sniffed distastefully, took the fork, mug, and container in one hand, and stood.

There was a dishwasher in the kitchen, but for three items, using it felt a little wasteful. That left…

He paused, lost in thought, then cleaned them with magic, vanishing what remained with a green flash. When the light faded, he returned the fork to its drawer and then headed down to do the same with the other two.

The lounge was as forlorn as before, which relieved him for some unidentified reason—no, socializing was a chore today, his mind filled in, especially with the likes of the Avengers. Loki left it at that. He rummaged through the cabinets, found where the reusable containers went, and neatly stacked the one he was carrying atop the pile, wryly mocking the not-so-structurally-sound arrangement under his breath. Once he was sure they wouldn't fall, he shut the cabinet door and ambled back into the centre of the room.

There was nothing unusual about familiarizing himself with the building; for all intents and purposes, he lived there, so of course he would want to know the layouts. At the same time, he was _Loki,_ and anything of the sort was awfully suspicious—which pissed him off, to put it bluntly, but he understood it as much as everything else. Even he couldn't trust himself at times. With that, he stepped into a blind spot, masked his appearance, and started down the hall.

Past the lounge, there were various clear-walled rooms, some with computers and screens, some for meetings—formal ones, anyway. Others were empty, unrepurposed and unused to suit the Avengers' diminished ranks. Farther along was a bathroom, and to its right, a mystery door, the lock of which didn't deter him whatsoever. He leaned against its length, listening for any activity, and when he was sure no one was inside, he snaked an ounce of kinetic energy through the tumblers, lined them up, and turned the knob.

The room was mostly filing cabinets and boxes, with more tech scattered between them, and lit only by a dimmed fluorescent light. Loki stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning for any tripwires, thermal cameras—gods, he was paranoid—and then proceeded inside. He didn't expect much, to be honest—government secrets, plans, nothing he needed. It was plain curiosity that led him on.

Most of the cabinets were dated, ranging from months to years. Missions, he guessed; nothing surprising there. Two of them had labels featuring letters, instead: A-M and N-Z. He unlocked one, pulled out a random folder, and opened it. Contained was someone's photo, personal specs, and—he flipped the page—their… criminal record. Surroundings considered, Loki wasn't all that shocked.

Did he want to look for himself?

He thought about it, tapping the paper with a fingernail, then sighed, replaced the folder, and closed the drawer. There was nothing he'd see that he didn't already know.

He exited the room and continued to Tony's workshop, which was also locked, he discovered. Pressing his ear to the door revealed no music or mechanical sounds, meaning it was probably an answer to vacancy rather than “do not disturb” or otherwise. That was useful in that he could have entered it just the same, knowing there was no risk of collisions, his invisibility wearing off, or the general discomfort that came with spying with someone present; he had been inside twice, though, and there wasn't much of interest there—just machines, machines, and more machines. With that, he simply stepped away and descended to the ground floor via the nearest stairwell.

The map was still there, pinned to one of the walls, and he gave it a quick look. It was unlabelled as ever, only listing fire exits, elevators, and stairs, so he didn't stay long.

Down the floor, there were more offices, what he was pretty sure was a press conference room, a gym, and a basic infirmary, none of which he found particularly interesting. He was downstairs anyway, so upon leaving the infirmary, he headed straight to the library to stock up on more reading material. There, he selected four equally hefty history books, one on astronomy, just to laugh at Midgard's scientific incompetence, and then returned to his quarters.

The tome on America still had some hour or two's worth of text remaining, so he took that, piled the other five books where it had been, and curled knees-up on the couch. He had a hand on the cover when he stopped, vaguely wondering what he could do for additional comfort. After a moment, he set the book on the cushion next to him, formed another cleaning spell, and swept it over his body—minus the hair, which was more than fresh enough. Once that was dealt with, he summoned a heavy fur blanket around him, pulled it tight, and _then—_ then he flipped to his last page, shimmied a little deeper into the corner, and began to read.

 

Loki didn't do much else.

The time blurred, easily shadowed by the words in front of him. He got through the rest of the First World War, noting it was somewhat insufficiently described, and decided he would do some further research later; same with the second. Past that, there were inventions, more wars, more inventions, and an awful lot of unconnected violence and terrorist attacks, which he took with as straight a face as the locked files. Earth as a whole had always been rather _like that._

He skipped over New York.

There wasn't much after that; the edition was from mid-2013, and plenty had happened between then and 2012, but most of it was nutshelled. He reached the end, slid the book to the bottom of the pile, and started reading the uppermost and next one. That was where the time really sped.

He wasn't complaining; it was a lazy kind of day and he didn't mind using it up to educate himself, never did. Introspection wasn't a bad thing, especially with all that was bothering him—risky, anyway, with all that was bothering him, but it wasn't bad. Lone downtime, he maintained, was an underrated and unappreciated blessing, and sure: maybe he would have preferred to light something on fire. He might have preferred a fight, physical, verbal, or both; something chaotic, loud, unpredictable, just to get all the emotions out. As it stood, though, and damn, he truly didn't want to admit it—

He had a lot of fear. Sometimes it was weaker, sometimes it was stronger, but it was always there, and while he'd been prone since birth and it certainly wasn't anything new, it was sudden. Years had gone by in relative peace, and now…

He had a lot of fear.

Reading in a silent room, cozied under a thick pelt, with no one and nothing to bug him, was the least he could do. He deserved some calm.

He stood once to not-go to the bathroom (or: deal with everything magically, because peeing freaked him the hell out for some ridiculous reason) and acquire some midday sustenance in the form of the herrings in his fridge, which he still wished Tony would try, and then returned to his spot on the couch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm something's not right here [thinking emoji]


End file.
